Deception
by robyn redhead
Summary: Eleanor "Nellie" Dean and her extravagant aunt are invited to Downton Abbey; an invitation that her aunt hopes will secure Nellie a husband in the form of the wealthy Duke of Banbridge. But Nellie has other ideas, particularly after she meets the charismatic and intriguing footman, Thomas Barrow. Thomas/OC. Beta-read by the lovely Sietha.
1. Chapter 1

"Eleanor, if you don't hurry, there will be trouble, do you hear?"

The shrill voice of my aunt rang up the stairs to my bedroom, as loud and clear as though she were standing in the room with me. I liked how I had found myself referred to as "Eleanor" which happened mostly when I was in trouble, or when my aunt was feeling particularly formal or important. I had been known as "Nellie" for as long as I could remember. My aunt's call still ringing in my ears, I sighed and made a face at the reflection in the mirror of my dressing table. The pale, dark-haired girl made a face back at me. I had just spent the best part of half an hour staring at myself in the mirror, and was no closer to accepting the person that stared back at me.

This had become a regular occurrence over the past few years, ever since my aunt had requested my presence at her weekly dinner parties, in which she entertained guests with her lavish supplies and luxurious upholstery. These little "get-togethers", as my aunt referred to them, had been happening every Friday evening for as long as I could remember, most likely ever since I had come to live with my aunt at the age of six, when my father passed away. I had never known my mother, for she died in childbirth—a tragedy that was not uncommon during the autumn of 1894.

But only since I turned thirteen had I been required to sit at the table with rich, elderly guests whose life stories bored me to death over dinner week in and week out. And this evening would be a special occasion, I had been told. It was a few days after my eighteenth birthday, and I was quite sure my aunt was planning something I was unlikely to be thrilled by.

I knew that there were many young girls who could only dream of living a luxurious lifestyle such as my own, with new dresses every week and a bedroom bigger than some people's whole houses. But to me, the dresses were merely items of restraint, the grand bedroom a vast, lonely space to retire to.

It was ungrateful to view things in such a way, but years of being fussed over and forced to make idle conversation with people three times my age had left me feeling rather bitter about everything.

"Nellie! Get down here this instant!"

Sighing again, I gave my reflection one final despairing glance before departing my bedroom. With as much elegance and dignity as one could muster while wearing several layers of silk and lace, I made my way down the main staircase, to where I could see my aunt. The wonderful Lady Eglantine, frills galore, stood looking stern as ever.

"Eleanor Dean, I have never known a young lady take so long to get ready as you, dear girl! Our guests are due to arrive any moment." I liked how she referred to them as "our" guests, when I doubted very much whether anyone who came to our residence this evening would remember my name.

"And, oh!" my aunt gasped as she took in my appearance properly. "You have not even powdered your face! And—dear God!" She was cut off as the shrill ting of the doorbell rang through the house.

"Good lord, they're here," she said, hurriedly smoothing down her many skirts. "Well, let's just be thankful that you are naturally pale. Now, places, people!"

She bustled off into the entrance hall, leaving me feeling as melancholy as I had been up in my bedroom. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself for another evening of boredom and food and followed my aunt through the glass doors.

x-X-x

"Mr Pamellson-Brown, you've met my darling niece, Eleanor?"

"Of course, of course!" boomed a large, beefy man with a rather red face. "Pleasure as usual, Miss Eleanor. How are the horses?"

"Horses, sir?" I enquired, but there was no point. Mr Pamellson-Brown had already bustled off, glass of red wine clutched tightly in his fist.

Greetings were often made in this way. Men and women alike would make curious comments to me, most likely thinking me somebody different, or else their memory impaired by years of wealth and luxury.

"_Mr_ Doonan and Mrs Doonan, what a pleasant surprise. I am _delighted_ that you came again. You remember my niece, Eleanor?"

"Yes, yes," said Mr Doonan, his long curly moustache quivering as he spoke.

"You are the ballet dancer, are you not?" said Mrs Doonan, leaning toward me in an interested fashion.

"N-no," I said, "not me!"

"No, no," interjected my aunt quickly. "No ballet for my dear Nellie. The girl's always been far more interested in reading! Now, have you seen this 18th century vase over here, quite a remarkable piece..."

My aunt led the Doonans across the room, gesturing to me discreetly that I should walk around and appear interested in people, at least until dinner was called.

Looking about the rather crowded room, I searched for something that would make me feel slightly less awkward. Spotting Maisie, my dress maid, hovering near the glass doors, I hurried over. At least s_he_ wouldn't sway the conversation to topics of money.

"Good evening, Miss," said Maisie, curtseying when she saw me. "You are looking lovely this evening, I must say."

"Yes, yes," I said, hating compliments of any sort, "thank you."

There was a pause for a moment, while we both surveyed the scene in front of us.

"Your aunt is looking dazzling tonight, is she not?" said Maisie. My aunt was in the middle of the room, surrounded by people, and seemed to be literally radiant. Perhaps it was due to the shining beads on her skirts, or maybe confidence and elegance really _were_ the keys to a good appearance.

"Indeed," I said. "You don't happen to know what she's got planned for this evening, do you, Maisie?"

"No, Miss. None at all. But I'm sure it will be something most pleasant for your eighteenth."

"Hmm," I said, not convinced.

A bell tinkled from the other side of the room, and one of our smartly dressed footmen, Jenkins, I think, though it was hard to tell from so far away, announced that dinner was ready to be served.

I found myself propelled forward with a general throng of people, including my aunt, toward the revolving doors that lead to the dining room.

"Nellie, dear, you'll sit up next to me. Yes, there. Next to Mr and Mrs Hartley."

The massive dining table that stretched practically to the full extent of the room groaned under a galore of food, drink, and table decorations.

I was glad, for the most part, that the food provided a convenient distraction that saved me from dull conversation with the Hartleys. After all, it's unladylike to talk when one's mouth is full.

The main course was cleared away and dessert was brought out in a flurry of footmen, dishes, and meringue. When the dessert plates too were cleared away, and a lull in the chatter of the evening showed that our guests were pleasantly full and tired, my aunt stood up and tapped her glass delicately with her knife, indicating she was about to address the whole party.

This was not unusual. She often chose to make long speeches after dinner, particularly if she had drunk copious amounts of wine. They would tire people even more through their sheer length, if not with their uninteresting content.

"My dear friends," she began, "I thank you all deeply for coming tonight. The evening has been most pleasant, and I do hope you have enjoyed yourselves."

There was a murmur of agreement around the table.

"However," continued my aunt, "I believe there is one more thing that must be said before you all depart homeward. As I'm sure you are all aware, it was my darling niece Nellie's eighteenth birthday just a few days ago, which, of course, was a very special occasion."

My aunt gestured towards me, and then, resulting in my immense embarrassment, the people around the table applauded. I wasn't really sure why; turning eighteen didn't really seem like something that required _congratulating_ on.

"And," continued my aunt, when the clapping had subsided, "because this is a special occasion, I feel it deserves a special _announcement_."

My aunt paused for dramatic effect.

"As many of you know," she continued, when she was quite sure that everyone was on the edges of their seats to hear what she had to say, "I am most well acquainted with Robert and Cora Crawley, Lord and Lady Grantham of Downton Abbey."

There was a murmur of awe and agreement. I wasn't really sure where this was going. Though I barely recognised the name "Grantham", this was not unusual. As my aunt was "well acquainted" with so many people, it was sometimes hard to keep up.

"And, they have invited myself and Nellie to stay at Downton Abbey, in celebration and honour of Nellie's eighteenth."

There was a united gasp around the table, while some guests took their reactions to the extreme and clasped a hand to their mouth.

"But Downton Abbey is one of the most renowned homes in Britain!" stated a skinny man with a high pitched voice and hordes of curly brown hair.

My aunt nodded, basking in the superiority.

"Your stay will be quite the experience," murmured a lady in awe, whose hand was still partially raised to her red lips.

"How long will you be staying?" piped up somebody else.

"Well," said my aunt, pausing as though considering this at great length, "as long as seems right, I think." At this, she gave a curious smile at me, which I understood nothing from.

"If I were to stay at Downton Abbey, I doubt I should ever wish to come home!" exclaimed Mr Pamellson-Brown. "Even if my home were as nice as this one!"

x-X-x

When the guests had dispersed, all claiming the evening as "marvellous", and a team of staff cleared up the debris, I found myself alone in the deserted lounge, which felt very flat and deflated now that it was empty.

I picked my way across the room, stumbling over abandoned glasses and furniture, to the doors on the other side that led out onto the patio. Despite the evening October chill, I unlocked the doors and stepped into the cold night. The moon was bright in the dark, crisp sky, reflecting down upon the water fountain on the lawn and the strings of garden lights strung in the bushes that illuminated the entire garden. I surveyed the scene and sighed.

I knew I should feel excited, overjoyed, in fact. The leaving guests, as they shook me warmly by the hand and congratulated me once again on nothing in particular, had told tales that promised me nothing but the most lavish luxury when I arrived at Downton Abbey. What young girl wouldn't jump at the chance to enter into such a world, greater than I had already known?

But I could not help an inexhaustible feeling of dread. The stifling atmosphere of Larkford House was bad enough; how would a house rumoured to be several hundred times larger and grander be even bearable?

There was something else, too. The reasoning behind the smile my aunt had shot at me during her speech had now become all the more clearer. I had reached the age of eighteen, the age that signified the passing into adulthood, responsibility, and marriage.

Of course, it would have been almost too good to be true to expect Aunt Eglantine to organise a trip as grand as this for purely recreational purposes. She was intending, I was now quite sure, to set me up with some rich man, a relative or friend of these Crawleys of Downton Abbey. Although I usually decline from passing judgements on people prior to acquainting myself with them, I could not help supposing that I was unlikely to find anyone stimulating enough to want to marry. Though, of course, what did want and desire come into it at all? If Aunt Eglantine should find someone that she wished me to wed, I was certain I would have no option but to accept. I sighed again, life suddenly seeming a lot more complicated.

"Nellie?" my aunt's voice made me jump violently; I had been so caught up in my own thoughts. "What are you doing out here in the cold?"

"I was just..." I waved my hand to the garden by way of excuse.

"Yes," said my aunt, agreeing with I wasn't sure what. "It is beautiful."

"What? Oh, yes, yes. Quite," I hurriedly agreed, realising our subject had turned to the garden.

"I do hope you are looking forward to our trip," my aunt said.

"Of course," I answered, "I am most excited." Whether my tone matched the words, I wasn't sure, but my aunt didn't seem to be listening anyway.

"They are most wonderful," she said. "The Crawleys. They have three daughters, not much older than yourself. It will be so good for you to spend time with other women of your own type. I worry about you upstairs all day by yourself."

At this, I said nothing. I knew my aunt considered me a bit of a loner, often seeking my own company rather than that of others. But this was hardly my fault; who can blame a young girl for wanting to spend time with herself instead of middle-aged men and women who knew nothing about her? I wasn't sure, either, that I liked the sound of these "three daughters". I had never had to associate with others my own age before, and could already envisage it being a social disaster on my part.

"And lots of young men, too," said my aunt, continuing as though she hadn't expected me to say anything anyway. "That will be good for you, Nellie."

I muttered something nondescript, though my aunt obviously gathered its meaning.

"Oh, come now, Nellie. All young ladies are in want of a husband; it's just what is done. You should know that by now. The estate is entailed. To my cousin." she sniffed disapprovingly. "He only lets us live there because we pay an outrageous rent and he has no interest in land management. When I am dead, you will have nothing, unless you marry his son Charles, and knowing George, that is not at all likely."

Closing my eyes, I prepared for another lecture about the all-important entail. George was my aunt's cousin; as he was the next in line after the late Mr. Dean, the Dean estate, such as it was, belonged to him legally. It wouldn't do to cast off one's cousin-in-law, but after Aunt Eglantine was gone, we all knew George wouldn't hesitate to throw me out. As my aunt said, he was "odiously middle class." (Never mind that she was rather middle class herself.) He had a son by the name of Charlie, whom Aunt Eglantine had hoped would marry me, but no such luck. In a letter sent some years back, George Dean had made it uncomfortably clear that his son was no sacrificial lamb. How rude, I had thought with a sardonic smile. Even Mr. Collins had the decency to propose to Elizabeth.

I repeated my tired mantra. "But Aunt, if we practiced economy—"

"And nothing," she hissed, narrowing her eyes at me. "Everything I do is for your benefit. I've told you again and again. George won't let Charles marry a castoff, so you _must have a well-off husband_. To have a well-off husband, you must move in well-off circles."

Oh, yes, I know that, I thought, as we retired back inside, closing the patio doors against the cold wind outside, but that doesn't mean that I have to go along with it willingly.


	2. Chapter 2

"No," Aunt Eglantine stated, annoyed and decisive. "That will certainly _not_ do."

It was early morning. So early, in fact, that the sun was still pathetically attempting to rise outside, meaning that my bedroom was lit by the light of several oil lamps. The reason we were up so ridiculously early was that the day had finally dawned—Downton Day, as I had been secretly calling it in my head. I had wondered aloud whether it was quite necessary to get up in the middle of the night, but this had just earned me a snap from my aunt about it being a perfectly reasonable hour, while Maisie murmured something about Downton being in Yorkshire, a day's travelling.

"Yes," my aunt had curtly agreed. "And we wish to arrive before nightfall, don't we?"

The object of my aunt's annoyance at this _particular_ moment was my appearance in the looking-glass above my dressing table. I had been up since goodness-knows-when, and Maisie had been attempting to style my hair in a most elaborate way. My hair, it seemed, was not used to being tugged and twisted about so much, and was protesting most adamantly against the pull of the comb.

"Maisie, you really must do something about Nellie's hair," said my aunt despairingly. "Is there nothing you can do to, to _tame_ it?"

"But what's wrong with the way it always looks?" I asked innocently, the answer already on the tip of my tongue.

"Because you will want to make a good first impression on the Crawleys," snapped my aunt. "And that won't happen with you wandering around looking like a scullery maid!"

This last comment, I felt, was a bit unfair. True, my appearance was probably not of Downton standards, but I thought I had looked acceptable enough. But apparently not.

"That dress will need to be changed as well. And there are some new shoes and a travelling cloak in your wardrobe."

"But—"

"You must be downstairs in no more than ten minutes, ready to go, or else there will be trouble, Eleanor."

I gave up; having been called my full name, I guessed there was no point in arguing.

There was a sharp click as my aunt exited the room, perhaps to complain despairingly to somebody else. If things were like this before we had even left Larkford House, I dreaded to think what it would be like once we actually arrived at Downton Abbey.

"Now, Miss," said Maisie, interrupting my thoughts somewhat. "Let's see about this hair, shall we?"

x-X-x

Miraculously, I found myself less than ten minutes later down in the drawing room, dress changed, new shoes on, and hair more styled than I had ever seen it before. Happiness still evaded my aunt, though.

"Well, I guess it will have to do, unless we—Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly, as a bell rang somewhere. "That's Hanson. Our car awaits, Nellie!"

All thoughts and annoyance at my hair had evidently evaporated at the sound of Hanson, the chauffeur, ringing his bell to state that we were ready to depart. There was so much excitement in my aunt's eyes as she gave one last sweep of the house that I couldn't help feeling a little happy for her in spite of it all. As for myself, I thought as I clambered into the car after my aunt, I did not feel overjoyed to be going to Downton Abbey in the least. It sounded as if it were to be far too grand and awkward for my liking.

The journey to Yorkshire was, indeed, a long one, and the train trundled along loudly. Fortunately (or unfortunately, from a financial point of view), Aunt Eglantine had reserved first class accommodations. Rain began to lash against the windows not half an hour into the journey, making pattering sounds against the glass. I was bored, too, for there was little to occupy one's self with inside a train. There was only so much scenery to look at out of the window, and even then it was too misty and rainy to be able to see much. I couldn't help but wish I had packed a book or something in my hand bag, and not left them all in my suitcases, which I had no chance of accessing until we reached Downton Abbey.

My aunt had been reading a newspaper in silence, but I was not surprised at this; we had always been strangely affectionate in a non-communicative way, and time together was usually a silent affair. But now, the newspaper was discarded on the velvet seat beside her, and my aunt's head had drooped on her chest; she was fast asleep.

Reaching forward, I grabbed her newspaper and busied myself in the headlines, hoping it would bore me to sleep if not amuse me. There was the usual fare of political articles, most of which I merely skimmed over. Some man called Carl Jung had published his 'Theory of Psychoanalysis' and a farmer in Devon had lost a whole herd of cows. There was a mildly interesting feature where aspiring authors posted sample chapters of their work, but this annoyed me as there was no way of finding out what happened next.

The train stopped around two in the afternoon in some damp, dismal station in the middle of England that was half extinguished by a thick fog now settling around. Rain still splattered down, and my aunt, now fully awake, refused point blank to get out and stretch her legs and forbade me to do so either.

"It is _raining_, Nellie," she said, as though I could not tell the weather for myself. "That will do nothing for your appearance."

Of course, that all-important first impression.

My aunt seemed more animated during the second half of our journey, and more at liberty to hold conversation with me. The topics of conversation were, unfortunately for me, limited. All I heard were tales of the Crawleys and Downton Abbey as my aunt talked excitedly. In fact, I began to feel as if I already knew these Crawleys well, despite never having met them at all. However, though I did not find the slightly one-sided conversation with my aunt particularly interesting, it did mean that the awkward silence was no more.

The skies rolled around to black, and my aunt's watch ticked over another hour. We had been on the railroad _all_ day, and I was beginning to feel the strain of being confined inside the compartment for so long.

"Aren't we _nearly_ there?" I asked, wondering if I was in danger of sounding like a small child on a rare trip to the seaside.

My aunt checked me for being impertinent before replying, "Nellie, we shall get there when we get there. I'm quite sure that it will not be much longer. And, besides, it will be well worth it, you just wait until we roll up outside, because the walls of Downton are made of..."

And it began again.

Eventually, we slowed to a stop. The rain had abated somewhat, and we were able to alight on the platform without our umbrellas. The chauffeur was very prompt, but the ride was a bit long.

"Do you know how far we are from Downton Abbey?" I whispered, my eye on Taylor, the chauffeur.

"Oh, shush. I'm sure it will be very soon."

I sighed.

However, my aunt was proved right, at least in part, for, not half an hour later, the car took an abrupt turn and I felt its wheels roll upon gravel.

"We're here!" exclaimed Aunt Eglantine, excitedly though unnecessarily; I was very aware that we had arrived. "Oh, it's beautiful, is it not?"

"Where is...?"

I trailed off completely. I had peered out of the carriage window, and looked around for some sort of building like the one my aunt had described in such detail. Having found none, I had been about to voice my concerns, when I finally laid eyes upon Downton Abbey.

The reason I had not seen it sooner, I realised, was that I had not quite anticipated the enormity of the house. No, this was much more than a house. Dozens of lights blazed out from the windows, scattering beams onto the gravel below. Miles and miles of beautiful stone made the walls; panels of wonderful oak created a large front door.

Hurrying down from the driver's seat, Taylor opened the door for Aunt Eglantine to make her great descent. I peered past her and saw that several other figures were now appearing in the doorway, their frames silhouetted against the light. Taylor helped my aunt make her way delicately and sophisticatedly over towards them, leaving me to clamber down from the car most ungracefully, almost slipping on the last, rather wet, step. Luckily for me, for I was in great danger of making a fool of myself further, Taylor hurried back, this time accompanied by a large black umbrella, and assisted me to the door.

"Lady Eglantine," someone was saying as I approached the sheltered and lit porch with Taylor. "What a _pleasure_ it is to see you again. We are so _charmed_ that you could come." The speaker was a woman, with dark hair and an American accent. I knew that this must be the Lady of the House, Cora Crawley.

"The pleasure is all mine," my aunt insisted, taking Cora Crawley warmly by the hand.

"You must come in out of this frightful weather!" said a man with grey hair and kind eyes who I assumed was Robert Crawley. "Then we can start on introductions. But first, allow me to introduce Carson, the butler, and Mrs Hughes, the housekeeper. They keep their staff in excellent conduct, and I'm sure they all will make your stay most pleasant."

I took in Carson, an elderly man with large eyebrows who nodded to us both, and Mrs Hughes, who gave a slight curtsey. I supposed there would be a great many staff to "keep in excellent conduct" in a house of this size.

In the brightly-lit hallway, with grand paintings and art spread around, there were more introductions to be made.

"My daughters," said Robert. "My eldest, Mary, then Edith, and my youngest, Sybil."

I passed an eye over the three daughters, all three so alike in elegance; yet the contrast in their looks was evident.

"And this," Robert gestured towards my aunt and me, "is Lady Eglantine and her niece, Eleanor. We really are _so_ delighted you came," he added to us.

Mary, Edith, and Sybil all swept an identical eye over Aunt Eglantine and me, and I remembered my aunt's feelings on the importance of a good first impression. However, before I had had time to remember about standing tall and looking pleasant, everyone had looked away, and the moment was gone.

"Shall we go through to the drawing room, Robert?" asked Cora.

"Yes, yes. I expect you are quite tired out," Robert said to Aunt Eglantine. "But I'm sure you'll have a drink and a bite to eat before we show you to your rooms?"

"That would be _wonderful_."

The drawing room was, if possible, even grander than the hallway; tapestries by the dozen were strung up, and luxurious carpets and furniture were positioned at aesthetically strategic intervals. A footman held the door open for us, a tall young man with fair hair. Quite charming compared to our old footman at home, Walter.

At Larkford House, a "bite to eat and drink" might have included a pot of tea or bottle of wine, as well as a cake or two. And visitors would compliment us even on this. Yet here, at Downton Abbey, a spread larger than my average supper arrived in the drawing room, carried by the blonde footman and another, equally tall and striking, but with dark hair. After delivering the many trays to the table, they took up solitary positions by the door, standing tall and straight and expressionless. The Crawleys took no notice of them whatsoever, and I found myself thinking fondly of the way in which I greeted our staff cheerfully whenever I saw them, and often spent afternoons talking with them. At Downton, it appeared, staff were staff, and that was that.

"Mary—" Cora's American accent interrupted my thoughts—"why don't you take Eleanor to the library? You can take your tea there, and get to know each other a little better."

Being told to "get to know" someone a little better sets up a most awkward situation, which I found myself part of as I settled in the library with Mary, Sybil, and Edith.

"So, Eleanor," began Mary, evidently about to attempt upon a conversation that would inevitably end up being awkward. But I did at least realise something that might make me feel more comfortable.

"Please," I interrupted, "please, call me Nellie."

"Nellie? Like the elephant?" asked Edith, smirking at her sisters, neither of whom returned the gesture.

I mumbled something marginally incoherent about it being what I had always been called.

"Nellie," said Sybil, smiling. "Yes, it suits you. Not, of course," she added, "that I am implying that you are like the elephant!"

"No," said Mary snidely, "that is something only _Edith_ would come up with."

Whether this was a jibe at her sister, or a word in my defence, I was glad that we had gotten over the name issue. I wasn't sure if I could stand being called "Eleanor" all the time. I would constantly feel as if I were in trouble.

The conversation ensued with closed questions and one word answers, which made the whole thing feel more like an interview, not a general conversation between acquaintances. Though it was not unpleasant, as all three of the sisters seemed reasonable enough, it was extremely awkward. I was relieved when I was rescued by my aunt, who entered the library to inform me that we would be retiring to bed now.

I bade goodnight to Mary, Edith, and Sybil and thanked Cora and Robert for their warm welcome, and then followed my aunt up a staircase even more beautiful than our own—and ours had often been a talking point during parties at Larkford House. We were led to our rooms by the two footmen, who were carrying the remainder of our luggage, the majority of which had already been brought up.

The fair haired footman took me to my room, which was down a red-carpeted corridor from my aunt's chamber, where I could already hear her making requests to the other footman, whom I pitied greatly; I would not like to be the one to be on the receiving end of my aunt's demands.

I was much relieved and delighted to find Maisie already in my bedroom, folding down my bedclothes and putting my possessions in their appropriate places.

"Good evening, Miss Nellie," she said when she saw me, curtseying. "I've prepared the bed, so it'll be all comfortable for you."

"Thank you, Maisie," I said. "Here are the last of my things." I turned to the footman, who hurriedly handed the packages to Maisie.

"I'm not quite sure if we'll find room to fit all these in, Miss," said Maisie, a hint of concern in her voice.

"Oh," I said. "Well it doesn't really matter, does it? I don't understand why Aunt Eglantine considered it quite necessary to bring an entire suitcase of hats, but still. She is set in her ways."

Maisie said nothing, but gave a sort of half-shrug which suggested she agreed with me, but didn't want to say so outright.

A thought suddenly occurred to me.

"Where will you sleep, Maisie?" I asked. At Larkford House, Maisie had always slept in a room that adjoined my own, and I had been comforted by the idea of a friend being close by. But now, there seemed to be no such arrangement.

The footman, still present in the room, cleared his throat. I turned to him expectantly.

"Excuse me, Miss Eleanor," he said nervously. "But we've a room prepared for your dressing maid. She'll be staying with us. In the attics."

I digested this information. I suppose, from what I had seen of the house so far, I should have expected something like this. Of course maids and ladies would not be on the same level here.

"Yes," I said, looking to Maisie. "Yes, of course."

The footman nodded, looking relieved that I had understood his information.

"Perhaps," I added, to Maisie, "you could go with..." I looked expectantly at the footman.

He started slightly, but said, "William, Miss. Second Footman."

I smiled at him. "With William. That way, you won't get lost."

"I'd be glad to show you the way," said William, smiling at Maisie.

"But, Miss Nellie," she said, "who will get you ready for the night?"

"Oh, Maisie," I said, "I am perfectly capable of looking after myself for one night. I would be much happier if I knew you were not wandering hopelessly about not knowing what to do or where to go."

Smiling gratefully and thanking me, Maisie left the room with William.

When she was gone, I regretted my kindness, for I missed her presence in the room. I was not lonely for long, though, for as soon as I had changed out of my dress and was just taking down my hair from its ridiculous style (which had steadily become even more ridiculous as the day had progressed, slipping down my head), my aunt entered my bedroom, without knocking, of course.

"Ah, Nellie, good," she declared. "I hope you are settled in well?"

"Yes, very well," I answered. "I have sent Maisie off with a footman; he's going to look after her."

"Yes, indeed," said my aunt, not really listening. "I must admit, I thought that Downton would have better conducted staff."

This surprised me. I had thought William, the footman, most pleasant. My aunt, it appeared, had other opinions.

"That footman," she said haughtily. "He could not even tell me the type of silk used in the bed sheets! I mean," she added, "it's just standard practice, isn't it? And would he bring me a crystal glass for my water? Would he ever! Plain glass, I've had to deal with, and with a chip and all!"

"Aunt Eglantine," I said, "please calm yourself. Is it really necessary to know the type of silk in which you are going to sleep in?"

"Well," said my aunt slowly. "No. Perhaps not. Yes, you are right, of course, Nellie. I have let my tongue run away with itself. Tomorrow, indeed, will please me more, I feel." She opened the door to leave. "The Crawleys are having some friends round for dinner. The Duke of Banbridge, Edward Yorke, is coming. I am sure you will find him most honourable and charming."

I rolled my eyes. "Goodnight, Aunt Eglantine."


	3. Chapter 3

It took me several moments the next morning to realise where I was. The crisp new sheet on the mattress felt unfamiliar and strange, and there were thick, velvet hangings that I had drawn around my bed the previous night that now blocked out any daylight that may have been coming in through the window.

As I lay, staring up at the velvet, I could not help an irrepressible feeling of dread for the coming day. It was quite unexplainable, though I suspected the arrival of the Duke of Banbridge was to blame, at least in part. Downton Abbey, too, just seemed so massive and elegant; I already felt out of place at Larkford House, and my inability to act appropriately in such environments was even more obvious here. It was not that the Crawleys were unkind people; on the contrary, they seemed most amiable and generous. It was more that we were so different, a fact I noticed particularly with the Crawley daughters. Though they were my age or thereabouts, we could not have been more dissimilar. I _knew_ my aunt wanted me to interact and socialise with people like this, and I _knew_ that it was probably good for me, but it did not make the idea any easier.

I rose from my bed, and no sooner had I drawn the curtains (which revealed only another grey and depressing day outside the window) and wondered where on earth Maisie had got to, than there was a knock at the door, and in came the subject of my thoughts herself.

"Good morning, Miss," she said, bringing in a pile of fresh laundry. "And how did you sleep last night, may I ask?"

"Very well, very well," I said. "How are the servants' quarters?"

"Oh, most agreeable, Miss," Maisie answered.

"And the rest of the staff? They are agreeable also?"

"Oh, yes," said Maisie, retrieving my dress from the wardrobe. "They seemed most welcoming. But I'm sure you will meet them all today."

"I will?"

"I believe that her Ladyship is going to give you a tour of the house. It was announced to the staff this morning to make sure that everything was spick and span downstairs in preparation."

_Of course_, I thought, wondering if all my moves at Downton Abbey were to be announced and prepared for.

"Your arrival in the house has already caused quite the stir downstairs," Maisie continued, starting to help me into the periwinkle blue dress that had been selected for me.

"It has?"

"Indeed. Everyone was talking about Lady Eglantine last night."

"Good things, I suppose?" saying this, but not entirely believing it myself.

"We-ell," began Maisie. "Not all, Miss. It seems that some of the staff believe that she, perhaps, has a little too much self-importance, if you don't mind me saying."

"Of course," I said, internally frustrated with my aunt's antics. "Well, we both know that that's at least partly true."

Maisie smiled nervously, evidently not quite sure if it was deemed acceptable to scorn her employer, even if it were only in light-hearted humour.

"I hope that everyone has not assumed me to be the same as my Aunt Eglantine?"

"I certainly made sure I put in a good word for you, Miss," said Maisie, not altogether answering my question.

"Well, Aunt Eglantine was certainly putting on a show last night. I feel quite sorry for the poor footman who had to deal with her."

"Oh, not Thomas? Oh, nobody should feel sorry for him."

"Why ever not?" I exclaimed, surprised at Maisie's tone. As far as I knew, she never spoke ill of anybody, particularly someone she had hardly known long enough to pass judgement on.

Maisie, apparently realising this, blushed somewhat and muttered, "Well, he's just...he's just..."

"Yes?"

"Not very nice," she finished lamely.

I, however, did not consider this an adequate response. "What do you mean, 'he's not very nice'?" I demanded.

"Oh, never mind, Miss Nellie," Maisie said, hurriedly searching for a change in subject. "We must finish getting you ready, or I'll have your aunt to answer to!"

I reluctantly complied, and no more was said on the matter.

Downstairs, I was fortunate enough to be led to the breakfast room by William the footman, for I was quite certain that I would not have been able to find the way by myself.

I found myself in an awkward position, however, when I discovered the entire Crawley family already seated at the table, and Aunt Eglantine nowhere to be seen. I was just about to creep out of the room, hopefully unnoticed, and wait until I could enter with my aunt for company, when Robert Crawley looked over his newspaper and saw me.

"Ah, Eleanor. Good," he said, by way of a morning greeting.

"I do hope you slept well," said Cora, smiling at me serenely from over the top of her tea cup.

"I slept very well indeed, thank you," I said, taking an empty seat next to Lady Edith and hoping that this was a suitable thing to do.

"Will you have some tea?" Cora pursued. "Breakfast will be up soon, I'm sure."

"Will your aunt be gracing us with her presence this morning?" asked Edith, as I took a cup and saucer from a tray in the middle of the table.

At this seemingly harmless statement, Edith's eyes flickered towards Mary, and they shared a slight smirk, at which I perceived that perhaps they shared similar ideas with the staff downstairs regarding my aunt.

Choosing my words carefully, I said that I had not seen Aunt Eglantine; however, I was sure she would be around presently.

"It's rather odd, though," persevered Edith. "I mean, if you ask me—"

"But nobody _did_ ask you," said Sybil, and Edith was silent.

I was saved from any further questions by the arrival of breakfast, which was another extravagant and complicated affair. It was brought up, once more, by the two footmen, William, whom I now acknowledged with a smile, which he nervously returned (evidently this amount of attention was slightly disconcerting to him) and the other, Thomas. Maisie's words rang in my head as I watched him bring another tray of tea over to the table. _"Nobody should feel sorry for him...he's not very nice"_.

There _was_ a sort of meanness about the man's mouth; the slight smile he was wearing reflected not at all in his eyes, and was more of a sneer than a smile anyway. But I wouldn't pass judgement on somebody I knew nothing at all about, based purely on my maid's words and a first impression. Therefore, I accepted some sugar from him with grace, and thought no more of it.

It was now that my aunt finally decided to put in an appearance, bustling into the room in a galore of silk and feathers. It seemed that she had taken it upon herself to appear extravagant, lavish, and in my opinion, frankly ridiculous at all times while on our stay.

There was the usual disruption and commotion that Aunt Eglantine always seemed to create whenever she was present, but she settled down to finish breakfast with the rest of us, and the conversation drifted along until plans for the day came up.

"You must be at dinner tonight," Robert was saying. "Our good friend, the Duke of Banbridge, will be there."

At this, Lady Mary snorted into her cup, to which her mother gave her a stern look.

"What?" she said, innocently. "The Duke of Banbridge is certainly not _my_ cup of tea. Do not expect _me_ to hang around once he has arrived."

"Oh, but Mary, you _must,_" insisted her mother.

"But I am going riding with Cousin Matthew, and I—"

"You will be back for dinner, Mary, and that is that," said Robert, obviously having the final word in all of this.

Cora turned to me. "Eleanor, you are sure to find the Duke most admirable. Do not listen to Mary; she is very set in her ways." She smiled sweetly at me again while I tried to make sense of this statement, with very little success.

"Oh, don't worry," offered up Aunt Eglantine. "Nellie will be most satisfied with the Duke, I am sure."

I was on the verge of saying something along the lines of having opinions for myself, when William, the young footman, dropped a tray of spoons with a clatter and chaos ensued, thus ending the breakfast-time discussion.

x-X-x

"I didn't drop it, I swear!"

It was noon, and I had been informed by my aunt that we would be touring Downton Abbey with Lord and Lady Grantham, and to arrive in the Drawing Room at 12 o'clock sharp. The only problem was that I had very little sense of direction, and despite having visited the drawing room the previous night, I found myself wandering despairingly down corridor after corridor, with no idea if I was heading in the right direction or not. It had been along one of these hopelessly similar corridors that I heard voices coming from a side room. Drawing closer to the slightly ajar door (I was always one to give in to curiosity), I heard a curious conversation unfold.

"I didn't drop it; I swear I didn't, sir!" That was surely the voice of William, nervous and bumbling as usual.

"Then how do you explain how a tray of spoons found its way onto the floor by your feet?" This was a much deeper, older voice. Stern and strict.

"I—it was T—Thomas, sir," stuttered William.

"Thomas?" asked the deeper voice, almost curious now.

"Yes," said William, more confident now the other man seemed less stern. "Yes, he placed the tray so it were sure to overbalance the minute I touched it! I saw him up to something, but didn't realise what, or I would have been sure not to touch the tray, I swear!"

"Hmm," said the other voice, obviously considering this tale of events carefully. "I'll make some enquiries, but it must be _you_ who apologises dearly to his Lordship, as until we have any further evidence, it seems that you are to blame. It was quite a disaster, mind! Especially as there were guests present. Now, let us go back downstairs; I'm quite sure there is work for us both to be getting on with."

I remembered just in time that they were about to exit via the door that I was currently eavesdropping at, and was quick enough to take one large, smart step away and act as if I had just arrived.

"Oh, Miss Eleanor," said the older man, who I now recognised by face as Carson, the butler. Of course, I should have realised before, for his voice suited his face and demeanour perfectly.

"Hello," I said, hurriedly trying to think of an excuse to explain my presence. Then I realized the truth would suffice. "I'm sorry," I said, more smoothly now. "But I have gotten most awfully lost on my way to the Drawing Room; you couldn't show me the way, could you?" I asked, smiling at Carson in a way I was sure was quite sickening.

"Oh," said Carson, evidently surprised. "Of course, of course. Right this way. William," he now addressed the young footman, "Go back downstairs; we will continue this later."

It appeared, in fact, that I had not been so far from the Drawing Room after all. If I had not stopped to listen at the door, and instead followed the corridor on and around a bit more, I would have gotten there alright by myself. As it was, I was instead embarrassingly presented to my aunt, who flamboyantly thanked Carson and scolded me for my imprudence with directions.

"Shall we proceed?" asked Cora, saving me from any further ticking off.

The tour, it seemed, was a good opportunity for the Lord and Lady of the house to show off their splendid home. And indeed it was splendid; I myself was struck by the beauty of the rooms and furnishings, all of which easily out-did Larkford House.

It _was_ beautiful, and yet...There was something about the vastness, the grandness, that made me uneasy. I have already said that I felt physically stifled by the extravagance of my daily life, and Downton Abbey seemed to magnify that feeling even more. I felt utterly and completely out of place, so much so that I almost felt relieved when I was told we would go downstairs to meet the staff. For some reason, I thought I wouldn't feel as uncomfortable and out of place there.

Not uncommonly, I was slightly wrong. A babble of noise from a room downstairs reached a crescendo as we drew nearer, and yet the very second that we entered the room, several chairs scraped as everybody stood up, and all fell silent. Nobody would even look at us in the eye, but Cora and Robert acted as though this were perfectly normal.

Carson bowed to Lord and Lady Grantham, and then to my aunt.

"Good afternoon, Carson," said Robert, glancing around the room impressively.

"My goodness, what a lot of staff you've got here!" said my aunt, following Robert's gaze at everybody.

"Indeed, Lady Eglantine," put in Carson. "And I assure you they are most efficient."

"Of course," said my aunt condescendingly. "And shall we just not mention the word 'spoons', then?"

Carson was as speechless as I was both annoyed and embarrassed by my aunt's words. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and my aunt arched her eyebrows at him, before bustling after Cora, who was saying in a loud voice, apparently unaware of what had just taken place, "Eglantine, you must come and see the kitchen, it really is quite the marvel..."

Not sure whether I should follow or stick around and apologise for my aunt's behaviour, I was relieved to spot Maisie in amongst the rest of the staff.

"Maisie," I said, my voice sounding exceptionally loud in the silent room. I _wished_ somebody would start talking again. "I wonder if I might have a word with you?"

"Of course, Miss Nellie," said Maisie, hurrying over. We took to a corner of the room, whereupon the rest of the staff took it as acceptable to resume their antics, and, to my relief, chatter started up again.

"Oh, Maisie," I moaned, in a low voice. "Whatever am I to do with Aunt Eglantine? I wished the ground to swallow me up after that display!"

"Now, Miss," said Maisie soothingly. "That is just your aunt's way. You know she means no harm by it."

"You and I know that, _yes_. But I'm worried about, you know. Everybody else."

By 'everybody else', I really meant the rest of the staff. Though I sensed that the Crawleys disliked my aunt also, for some reason, I did not worry about, nor value, their opinion. I was much more concerned about being hated and discussed _downstairs._

"Don't worry, Miss," said Maisie. "The people down here don't care whether your aunt's got _two heads_ as long as they're doing their jobs correctly. You just worry about keeping on your aunt's good side and don't go causing any rows with her over this now, will you?"

"She has a good side?" I said, but I was smiling now. Of course, what Maisie had said was true. Who really cared about Lady Eglantine and her nobody-of-a-niece Eleanor? People had never even _heard_ of us, let alone me, and they were unlikely to even _think_ about something that we had said.

This thought, however, did not stop me giving the group of servants an apologetic smile as my aunt and the Crawleys returned from the kitchen, ready to walk back upstairs. What I had not expected, though, was for my smile to be returned by somebody. Least of all for it to be returned by Thomas.


	4. Chapter 4

Not surprisingly and not uncommonly, I was lost. Again. Bored of listening to Aunt Eglantine bore Cora, I had made my excuses and set out on an adventure that was happily devoid of rude, classist relatives. Well, it wasn't really an adventure. I was actually only walking around the place because it trumped sitting in a drawing room all day.

Nevertheless, I managed to find an interesting corridor bursting with paintings of proud men and women in fine clothes, no doubt the illustrious Grantham ancestors. As I traipsed further down, the clothes changed with the centuries, until the final portrait, which was of an Elizabethan Lord. My sightseeing at an end, I continued through the corridor, taking a few lefts and some stairs. My surroundings began to grow dabber, and more cramped. Trying to repress the feeling I shouldn't be here, I paused to recollect the many turns I had taken, with no success.

"I'm only sayin' his lordship's found no complaint with my work. It was only the other day he said I was far more competent than Watson ever was."

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Metaphorically, of course. Two voices were coming out of a slightly open door; feeling frantic for some reason, I grew very still, praying they wouldn't leave the room. This was even worse than the last time; at least then I hadn't been anywhere I oughtn't to be.

"I mean, it would be easier, wouldn't it? I already know the work, and it's hard to find a good valet. All you have to do is hire another second footman. I daresay William would like the promotion, and with me filling in as valet, he has more to do."

I had never heard that voice before… Perhaps it was Thomas? I knew Watson had retired several months ago, and Lord Grantham had mentioned using Thomas's services until he could find a new man.

A second voice, one I immediately recognized as Carson's, answered. "Your concern for William's welfare is most touching, Thomas, but I hardly think he's ready to be a first footman. It was only last week that he dropped the spoons in front of _guests_, as you… no doubt know."

There was a pause. "Will you talk to his lordship?"

"I will consider it," said Carson, but in the tone that one adopts when one is doing a great favour.

"Yes, Mr Carson."

"Now, I believe you have work to do."

"Indeed."

I scampered off before they came out, and somehow managed to find my way back to the drawing room, where Aunt Eglantine scolded me for being gone for so long.

x-X-x

I was surprised that evening when a knock at my bedroom door revealed a blonde maid, coming in with an armful of lace and pearls.

"Beg pardon, Miss Eleanor," she said. "I'm Anna. Your aunt has requested that you wear this shawl this evening. There are earrings to match, and I'd be glad to fix your hair up."

She smiled at me; a kind, sweet smile, but I had to ask something.

"Where is Maisie? She's my dress maid," I added, wondering how well Maisie had managed to integrate herself with the staff downstairs.

"She is busy downstairs. Mrs Hughes has drafted all who can help with the preparations for the Duke's arrival. And I'm afraid Maisie is still occupied. But I'm sure we'll manage."

She smiled again, and I felt myself trusting her, despite what Maisie had said about the opinions of some of the staff.

"Of course," I said. "Thank you."

Anna, it seemed, was more advanced than Maisie in styling hair, and by the time she had twisted and twirled my locks, I looked far more like the 'respectable lady' my aunt was always upholding as the ideal I could only aspire to.

"There!" said Anna when she was finished. "You look lovely, Miss Eleanor."

"Nellie," I said. "Please, call me Nellie. Or," I added at Anna's slightly startled expression, "_Miss_ Nellie, if you must insist."

"Alright," said Anna, smiling once more. "Well, then, Miss Nellie, I am sure that the Duke of Banbridge will have nothing but nice things to say of you when you are looking this lovely."

I returned Anna's smile, knowing that she was paying me a compliment (even if it was in a roundabout sort of way), but her words just filled me with utter dread. I had never even _met_ the Duke of Banbridge, and already people were speculating about us. Us. There shouldn't even _be_ an 'us'.

Downstairs, I was led into the Drawing Room by Thomas, who announced my arrival (an idea I found frankly ridiculous) by saying, "Miss Eleanor Dean."

"Oh, Nellie!" breathed my aunt, rising from her chair and swooping over to me. "You look _wonderful_."

In all honesty, I didn't feel I looked much different than any other time she saw me, but I allowed myself to be embraced by my aunt, breathing in her scent of powder and perfume.

"Now," she said. "You must come and meet the Duke of Banbridge..."

The Duke, it seemed, had already arrived, and was in the library with Lord Grantham. The Crawley sisters were all there in the Drawing Room, and we acknowledged one another in a way one might expect from brief acquaintances. Cora Crawley seemed pleased as ever to see me, and was equally eager to introduce me to the Duke.

"But Mother," said Mary. "Surely Nellie should meet Cousin Matthew first?"

"Oh, of course!" said Cora. "How silly of me. Eglantine, I'm sure you're familiar with Matthew? Robert's cousin?"

At this moment, I realised there was a man in the room whom I did not recognise. Tall and good looking, he greeted my aunt with pleasure.

"And Matthew, this is Lady Eglantine and her niece, Eleanor."

"What a pleasure to meet you," said Matthew, proper and polite.

"Matthew and his mother live at Crawley House," informed Mary.

"And Mrs Crawley works at the hospital," interjected Sybil.

"How interesting!" said my aunt, though I was quite certain she did not care in the slightest.

"Shall we proceed to the library?" asked Cora. "There are further introductions to be made!"

"_Nellie_," hissed my aunt, as we trailed at the back of the group heading through into the library. "I do not want to see you making eyes at Matthew Crawley. He is already promised to Mary, so Cora tells me."

"But I—" I attempted to protest, but my aunt continued.

"Of course, he is a dashing fellow, but you must know your limits, girl!"

"But, Aunt Eglantine! I had not even considered Matthew Crawley at all!" I insisted.

My aunt, not even listening to me anymore, had been thoroughly distracted by the presence of the Duke of Banbridge and swept immediately over to him.

Edward Yorke, it appeared, was not an unattractive man, and would have been perfectly pleasant, had it not been for his completely vulgar mannerisms.

"Lady Eglantine Dean!" he practically boomed, though my aunt was mere yards away. "What a pleasure it is to meet you at last!"

"And Edward," said Robert. "This is Lady Eglantine's niece, Eleanor."

"Of course, of course! _Wonderful_ to meet you, Eleanor!"

He took my hand to kiss it, but then did not drop it afterwards, but instead kept hold of it and used it to steer my arm under his own.

"Shall we proceed in to dinner?" he asked, loudly.

"Yes, of course," said Cora. "Let us go through to the Dining Room."

"_You_ can sit next to me!" said the Duke to me, as though this were some great treat.

"Lucky her," I heard Sybil say under her breath as we walked through. "If Nellie is not deaf by the end of the evening, I shall be most surprised."

"_Must_ he talk quite so loudly?" said Mary quietly to her sister, wincing slightly as Edward Yorke gave a particularly deafening boom of laughter.

We settled down at the table, which William and Carson soon filled with the first course. At Lord Grantham's inquiry after Thomas, Carson told us that he was ill, though with a rather sceptical look on his face. I attempted the trick that I took up when at dinner at Larkford House, which was keeping my mouth full of food at all times, so that conversation with the Duke would be limited to a minimum. The Duke, however, wasn't having any of it.

There was not a _single_ let up in the conversation. Barely a pause to chew or swallow. _How_ he ever managed to eat any of his meal, I do not know. By the end of the first course, I knew the Duke's life story better even than my own and I was wondering whether pretending to faint to get myself away would be a bit extreme. It was _awful_. Though I had first perceived the Duke to be an attractive man—his soft, fair hair and hazel eyes did charm one—this idea was fast evaporating, as his personality quickly overclouded his nice face. By the time the second course arrived, I could not believe I had seen anything in him at all.

"I'm planning to go driving tomorrow!" he was saying. No, not saying, _shouting_. "I have a new car, you see, and would very much like to try it out around here. A fine piece, a fine piece. Engine runs as smooth as silk. Oh! I remember one time, I picked the bumpiest road in Oxford—I made a bet, you see, that I could drive over it without spilling my gin—we collegiates get up to the most amusing larks—and I won ten guineas driving thirty miles an hour. Blindfolded." He stared around the table impressively, as if expecting praise for his truly _idiotic_ stunt. Dear Lord. _Blindfolded_. I made a mental note never to get in a car with him, ever.

"Well, you're more than welcome to use the grounds," said Robert. I could hear the wince in his voice.

"Excellent, thank you! Perhaps—" he turned to me, and, though I was much closer to him than Robert Crawley was, possibly _increased_ his volume further— "Perhaps you'd like to join me?"

"I—" _Oh, God, no. I would die._

"Of course she will," cut in my aunt.

"What?" I blurted out. "No, no, I can't."

"Of course you can," insisted my aunt, through slightly gritted teeth.

"No, I won't go, thank you," I said.

"Weren't you just saying, Eleanor—" I should, perhaps, have taken my proper name as a warning—"about how you would love to take a drive around the Downton Grounds?"

"No?" I insisted. _Was she trying to kill me?_

"Eleanor," said Aunt Eglantine, her nostrils flaring. "You will go with the Duke tomorrow for a drive, and that is that."

But I had had enough of them, and that included my aunt too.

"No," I said, bluntly, standing up, not at all caring that everyone was now listening intently, including, I noticed, Carson the butler.

"Eleanor, sit down this _instant_," said my aunt.

But it was too late. I didn't care anymore. Crossing swiftly to the door, ignoring everybody, I quitted the dreadful dinner.

"Oh, leave her," I heard Cora say to my aunt, who was evidently making preparations to stand up and come after me, already calling out my name. "Let her be alone. You know what girls are like."

For the first time, I felt as though I and her Ladyship might be on the same page; I certainly didn't want to be followed by my aunt and listen to her scold me for half an hour. I stumbled slightly as I strode down the corridor, dull, hot anger flaring up within me for my aunt. More than anything, I wanted to be alone. My chest felt tight under my corset; fresh air seemed an intoxicating prospect.

I turned right at an ornate vase on a stand and continued down a corridor. Not sure where I was going, nor really caring at all, I found myself carried down some stairs and into an area I realised horribly was the servants' area. Thinking this was probably not where I wanted to be, I tried to backtrack, and pushed on a door.

To my immense relief, I burst straight out into a courtyard, and gasped the cold, October air, trying to steady myself. After just a few moments, I noticed that I was not alone, making me practically jump out of my skin. Two figures were sitting on crates, shadowed almost completely by the dark, starless sky. One I recognised instantly as Thomas; his stature was a good head above his companion, a shorter female with hair that was even more ridiculous than my own (which was now giving in and falling out of its elaborate style).

There were a few seconds of awkward silence, in which they both looked at me in surprise, before they hastily threw down their cigarette ends and stood up particularly straight and tall.

"Miss Eleanor," said the woman, with apparent grace, but there was a snide edge to her tone that made me believe that she begrudged addressing me in such a way.

"I—I'm sorry," I said breathlessly, hurriedly trying to think of something, _anything_, that I could say that didn't make me seem entirely incompetent. "I was just..." I trailed off, searching for an excuse with no luck.

"No, no matter, Miss," said the woman. "We were just leaving." She sent a significant look to Thomas that I was quite sure meant something, even if I had no idea what. Thomas, however, had other ideas.

"What are you doing?" he blurted out at me, accusing.

"_Thomas!"_ hissed the woman, and I knew that however much she might begrudge my superiority to her, she would play the part of the noble servant if she needed to.

"What?" said Thomas. "I'm only asking a question."

"E—excuse me?" I said, somewhat confused.

"Well," he said, "I just think that we've a right to know what the _great_ Lady Eglantine's niece gets up to when she's supposed to be at dinner with the Duke of Banbridge."

At this, he looked at me expectantly, and I was surprised to find myself weirdly compelled to look into his cold, grey eyes.

"I was just..." I started, a hundred excuses fluttering in front of me, none of them seeming quiet appropriate. But then I realised something. "Wait," I said. "I don't need to make excuses to _you_."

Despite my views on equality and friendliness between staff and employers, I didn't see why a footman and a maid should have a _right _to know what I was doing. The woman looked between the two of us, rather taken aback, as Thomas appeared to consider my words.

"No," he said slowly. "I guess you don't. But the truth'd be nice."

"I don't see why I should tell _you _of all people," I said, annoyed now.

"Oh! You hear that, O'Brien?" said Thomas, gesturing to the woman. "I guess we're not _worthy_ enough of the _wonderful _Miss Eleanor Dean's time."

"_Thomas_," O'Brien hissed again. "I insist that we go inside this instant." She even went as far as to place a hand on his arm, but he shook it off roughly.

"No. Why should she tell _us_ anything? Us of all people!"

He was mocking me, but this was the exact thing that I was terrified people would think of me. That I shared my aunt's idea that we were better than everybody. That we had some right to give orders and act superior.

"Look," I spluttered. "What _is_ your problem? I mean—"

At this point, I was saved from saying something I probably would have regretted by the sound of a commotion by the door behind me. It seemed that Maisie and William were both attempting to break down a door that had accidently swung locked when I had burst through it.

"Miss!" Maisie practically squealed, sounding both relieved and surprised at the same time. "I'm so glad you're here. I have been looking _everywhere_ for you."

"Obviously not quite _everywhere_," muttered Thomas.

"You said you were ill," said William, looking at Thomas.

"And you believed it?" he taunted. "Babe in a cradle, you are."

"Y—you watch your mouth, Thomas!" said William, bizarrely drawing some confidence from somewhere.

"Is that so?" asked Thomas, stepping intimidatingly forward towards William. Though virtually the same in physical height, one was almost cowering under the influence of the other.

"Now, now!" said the voice of O'Brien. "I really think we ought to go inside now. Come on, Thomas." Though O'Brien possibly would have been quite happy for a fight to ensue, she evidently felt some sort of responsibility for the group and did not want anything to be her fault.

With one final murderous glance at everyone, Thomas and O'Brien swept back inside, making Maisie sigh with relief.

"Come on, Miss, let's get you back inside before your aunt has a heart attack."

She began leading me over to another door that hopefully led to some corridor devoid of either Thomas or O'Brien. It was only once we reached the door, however, that I realised that William had not followed us. He stood still by the crates that Thomas and O'Brien had occupied earlier. A strip of pale moonlight, just visible through the clouded sky, shone down on his profile. I was about to call out to him, to insist that he follow us inside, but he turned away and sat on the vacated crates, looking rather dejected. Therefore, I followed Maisie back inside, leaving the chilly night air behind me.

"Is William alright?" I asked, concerned, as Maisie walked me up and down corridors that I had never seen before.

"Oh yes," she said. "He'll be alright. Besides, it's you we should be bothering with, Miss Nellie."

"Me?"

"Of course you! You're not to worry about Thomas, Miss!" insisted Maisie. "He's a nasty piece of work, that man. You'd do good to ignore him altogether."

"Hmm," I muttered, non-committal.

"And of course I heard what happened at dinner."

"What? Oh, yes, of course." Dinner? Dinner seemed days ago, weeks.

"You shouldn't have done that, you know. I expect your aunt is going to be most angry."

"Probably," I said. "I don't regret leaving the table, though."

"You don't?" said Maisie in surprise, as we turned into a corridor I finally recognised, hinting that we were nearing my room.

"No," I said. I couldn't explain why, but there was something I had found ridiculously satisfying about leaving a stunned Duke of Banbridge and an angry Aunt Eglantine and being insulted by an evil footman. It sounded bizarre, but I could not help feeling that the evening had not been altogether unpleasant, though I could not at all pinpoint exactly why.

After I returned to my bedroom, however, I fully regretted ever leaving the dining table. Aunt Eglantine insisted that she was extremely distressed, disturbed and disappointed with my behaviour. Anything, it seemed, beginning with D. Though perhaps not delighted. With a look in her eye I knew better than to argue with, and warning that she would scold me ceaselessly should I not apologise most profusely to Lord Grantham and the Duke of Banbridge in the morning, my aunt turned swiftly and quitted the room.

Though she was gone, she had left behind a nasty mood that wriggled right into my conscience and lingered long after I blew out the lamp beside my bed. Another thing lingered in my mind too, however. A pair of cold, grey, imploring eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

A few days passed with very little interest, and I was surprised to discover that we had soon been at Downton for just over a week. My aunt, though angry with my behaviour, had not pursued the match with the Duke of Banbridge; in fact, he was hardly even mentioned in my presence again. Though I suspected greatly that my aunt was still plotting to marry us off, she just wasn't making it obvious to me. I had managed to avoid Thomas also. I steered well clear of the passages that led downstairs, and most definitely made note to keep well away from the courtyard. Of course, since he was a servant, slight interactions with him were inevitable, but I managed to ignore him nevertheless. I _hated_ acting in this way, though, for I had become the very thing I had sworn never to become. But I felt as if there were no other option.

Lord Grantham had requested my presence on a number of his walks; however, when it was discovered that our conversation was limited to "Hello, how are you?" "Fine, thank you. And yourself?" "Yes, very well thank you," I noticed that these excursions grew rarer and rarer. I never had a night to myself, as my aunt forced me to spend every evening with the Crawley sisters. Though this was a task I despised at first, purely because of its sheer awkwardness, I grew to value their acquaintance and even found myself finding slight pleasure in their company. Though perhaps not Edith, whom I seemed to relate to least in the group.

Mary had even disclosed some information to me about her relationship to Matthew Crawley. It seemed that her mother wished for her to marry Matthew in order to keep Downton in the family name. Mary, however, though finding him admirable, had no desire to marry him, and viewed him more as a dear acquaintance. Yet I strongly suspected that she liked him more than she let on.

My aunt was still set on ingratiating us into the world of Downton Abbey, and whatever it was that she was doing, it was certainly working. Both Cora and Robert found her company most amiable and (though this may have been merely from politeness) often requested her presence for conversation or socialising, even asking her to voice her opinion on many of the discussed topics over dinner.

Though my aunt seemed to be making a positive impact with the inhabitants upstairs, it could not have been more different downstairs. Every day, Maisie would come in to help me get ready, and every day she would nervously answer my questions about what they said against us downstairs.

"They don't mean any of it, Miss," Maisie always tried to reassure me, but I was certain that this was completely untrue.

On an exceptionally cold October day, I decided to take a stroll in the frosty grounds alone. It was not that I resented the company of the Crawleys, for I _was_, bizarrely, starting to find comfort in their acquaintance; I just had an exceptional craving for my own company. Solitude had been something I always greatly appreciated, and something that had been hard to come by at Downton Abbey. I thought that an autumn walk would be the perfect excuse to find some seclusion and be alone with my own thoughts.

And so, immediately after breakfast and after my aunt had announced her plans, which revolved mostly around sitting in the drawing room and drinking tea, and everyone else wandered off to their various recreations, I instead took to my bedroom to grab my coat and headed down into the hallway, thoroughly looking forward to the prospect of my walk.

This enthusiasm, however, soon evaporated at the sight of Thomas at the door, evidently having just entered through the other side. Sighing, I braced myself for an inquisition. And I was not disappointed.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I am running away," I said simply. "I am going to walk all the way home to Portsmouth."

It was possibly worth telling this ridiculous lie just to see the effect it had upon the footman's normally expressionless face.

He frowned slowly, his mouth parting ever so slightly.

"You're—"

"Of course I am not being serious," I said, sighing. Why could nothing ever be taken in light-hearted humour?

"Right," he said.

We stood for a moment in silence. Why didn't he just leave? Or, more importantly, why didn't _I_ just leave?

"So where _are _you going?" persisted Thomas.

"Why do you want to know?" I asked. As far as I was aware, I was at liberty to do whatever I pleased, and my motives need not be questioned, especially by a footman.

Thomas shrugged.

"I'm just curious," he said.

"Well, don't be," I said, somewhat lamely.

And with that, I decided that our 'conversation' was over, and pushed past him to open the door and stepped out onto the gravel drive.

However, no sooner had I breathed in the first breath of cold, crisp air, did I see the person I probably least wanted to see in the world.

"Eleanor!" boomed Edward Yorke. "I was just coming to call on you! Wondered if you might want to join me for that drive now, eh? No blindfolds, I promise!"

Well, what was I supposed to say? It was too early for my brain to be functioning all that well, and an excuse didn't spring to my mind quickly enough to make it sound convincing. I therefore found myself agreeing to take a drive in the Duke of Banbridge's car, which he had literally just stepped out of before calling my name.

"What luck is this, eh?" he said as he started up the motor. "That I should discover you upon my very arrival!"

"Indeed," I said, trying to communicate in as few words as possible.

"I was speaking to your aunt just yesterday, down in the village, about how it had been too long since I had last seen you! Especially since you were in a bad way at dinner. Your aunt said you weren't feeling well."

"Really?" I asked, making a mental note to act extremely bitter towards my aunt upon my return.

Edward nodded, taking my mundane questioning and responses for truthful enthusiasm.

"You know, Eleanor," continued Edward, "I should very much like to spend more time with you; I find your company most admirable!"

"That would be lovely indeed," I said, wishing feverishly that I had never come out for a walk at all.

The Duke insisted on driving all the way around the grounds of Downton, showing off to me the way in which his new car was far superior to his old one, and to any other car, for that matter. But eventually, after what seemed like several _days_, I guessed we had run out of roads to drive down, and Edward pulled the car back up in front of the house, braking so fast that I was flung forward. With a hurried "Goodbye," I walked directly to the front doors, all hope of an autumnal walk abandoned. Ringing the doorbell, I waited for what seemed an interminable time, while the duke yelled something about going off to "test his engine on high speeds". Well, I was glad I had avoided _that_.

Hopefully, William would answer the door and not—

"Hello, Thomas," I said dully.

In return, he gave me an angelic smile. "And did we enjoy our ride with Banbridge?" he purred.

Shooting him a look of deepest loathing, I stepped over the threshold.

"I daresay you found the differences between the windshields of Fords and Sunbeams quite fascinating," he went on serenely.

Fortunately, Carson walked in at that moment, and Thomas immediately did his best impression of a brick wall. I made my escape from further teasing.

x-X-x

Aunt Eglantine, far from being demure at my complaints of her meeting up with the Duke in the village, denied absolutely nothing and was ecstatic at the idea that I had spent the morning with him.

"I don't see what's so wonderful," I said, as we made our way together down the staircase for dinner. "All we did was talk about his car. Or rather," I added, "_he_ talked. I listened."

But my aunt, increasingly agitating, merely smiled in an "I know best" way, and wafted away into the dining room.

My excursion with the Duke were discussed in great detail over dinner, during which I felt most uncomfortable. On the whole, however, it had been deemed a positive thing. Even Mary Crawley, who had protested most vociferously over spending time with Edward Yorke, now appeared to have found my morning impressive. Though, it was perfectly likely that she was just saying things to please her mother, who greatly approved of the Duke.

"He's a man that Nellie will want to keep," my aunt was saying to Cora. "A perfect gentleman."

"Yes," agreed Cora, evidently ignoring my blushing and mutterings of protest. "He's a gentleman alright. Dear Nellie will do well to keep him."

It was as if I were invisible! It seemed not to matter whether I attempted to say anything, or protest that I did certainly not want 'keep' the Duke of Banbridge; my aunt and Cora were intent on discussing it in great detail, while everyone else was forced to listen or else take up conversation between themselves. Searching the room for distraction, my eyes caught Thomas's, which held an expression I couldn't quite read. I hastily looked away, and he returned to serving Lady Mary.

As for me, I stared down at my plate, contemplating the non-existent charms of Banbridge. Was my aunt right? Was it my duty to marry well? With the way my aunt was lavishing money on fripperies, she would die penniless, and George Dean would not take kindly to a charity case living on his estate.

But surely my aunt had a great deal longer to live. Of course I would find a husband by then, and not one who probably thought Bronte was a car brand. With this happy thought, I took a sip of wine, but I couldn't quite get rid of the sick feeling in my stomach that always intruded when I considered my future. But surely all would be well. Banbridge was not be considered.

I was thoroughly relieved when the ordeal was over and was not at all sorry when everyone decided to retire to their rooms. Sybil insisted that the darker evenings now just made her feel tired earlier and there was a general murmur of agreement as everyone left the dining room.

Upstairs, I bade my aunt goodnight, and continued down the corridor to my own room. At the end of the corridor, however, I spotted something. Or rather, someone. It was O'Brien; Cora's maid with the ridiculous hair. She gave a quick glance over her shoulder, and did a double-take when she saw me. Before I had time to call out to her, however, she was gone, disappeared down the back staircase at the end of the corridor.

I frowned at the place at which she had disappeared for a few seconds, before shrugging and heading into my bedroom, giving her peculiar behaviour no more thought.

x-X-x

I had planned the next day to have a second attempt at an autumn walk in the grounds, but the Yorkshire skies dawned black and pewter, winds howled outside, and heavy rain fell continuously, turning the ground outside bog-like. Extra lamps had to be lit along the corridors of Downton, and there was a general air of doom and gloom within.

"But why is everyone so melancholy?" asked my aunt, as the rain rattled loudly on the window of the drawing room. "Why, Nellie, you used to long for wet days at Larkford House, when you could stow away in your room and read a book for several hours at a time!"

"Yes," I agreed. "But I have read all of my books I brought with me already, and..." I trailed off, remembering just in time that it would probably not be deemed appropriate to say that there was little else to do here inside on a stormy day.

"Well, dear," said Cora. "I'm sure that Robert wouldn't mind if you borrowed some books from _his_ library. Such a keen reader," she added, affectionately.

"Oh, no," I said, hurriedly. "That's fine. I don't think I should—"

"Nonsense!" cut in my aunt, who had a habit of interrupting me at the best of times. "That is a very kind offer, Eleanor, and I insist that you take yourself off to the library immediately!"

The problem with people like my aunt is that nothing is ever done casually; no idea can ever be mentioned without it being taken to the extreme, and done in haste. My aunt had taken this simple mention of books and Robert's library personally upon herself, and I was literally forced from the room to go to the library. Not that I really minded. It meant I got some time to myself at least, for I had finally managed to find my way around, if only basically. Now that I was not bothered with the constant feeling of being lost, I was able to appreciate the beauty and elegance of Downton Abbey at last.

I was strolling down a darkened hallway, listening to the continuing patter of rain outside, when another sound caught my ear. There were voices coming from behind one of the oak doors that unfortunately muffled the sound, so I could not make out exactly what was being said from my current position. I approached the door, characteristically giving into curiosity.

Leaning down, I peered carefully through the key hole, which revealed a room within that I did not recognise; however, I was not claiming to know every single room in the house, even if my sense of direction _was_ now a little better, so I could not be sure that I had never been in the room before.

Inside, I could see the figures of O'Brien and Carson, the butler, and could now hear some of their muffled, disjointed speech.

"I'm not saying _that_, O'Brien, I just..."

"If _you_ don't do something, then I will."

"Yes, but I'm just saying that this is how it will _look..._"

"...it's not my problem anymore..."

"...bad business, O'Brien, bad business."

"And _what,_" said a voice, suddenly as crisp and clear as though it were inside my ear itself, "could you possibly find _so_ interesting behind that key hole?"

The sudden appearance of Thomas right next to me was enough to make me literally jump, falling sideways from my crouched position onto the floor. We surveyed each other momentarily; he standing tall and proud as usual, and I sprawled humiliatingly on the floor, before he held out a hand for my aid. As strong a dislike I had for the man, and as big a dent as such an action would make in my pride, I decided I had very little choice but to accept the hand. My aunt insisted on layering so much lace and skirts on me that I would probably have found it most difficult to get up alone.

I grasped his hand, finding it surprisingly cool and pleasant to the touch. For some reason, perhaps because of his cutting manner, I had imagined it far less agreeable. Having said this, I let go the moment I was back on my feet, hastily brushing down my skirts awkwardly.

"Ah, yes. Thank you," I said, trying to look anywhere other than into Thomas's face.

He waved away my thanks, and instead leant against the wall, which annoyed me slightly, as it implied that he was not going anywhere soon, and that I had nothing better to do than to stand here talking to him.

"But," he said. "That doesn't answer my question as to why you were listening outside this door."

I shrugged. "It's a free country," I said, in an attempt to appear ambiguous. Why did Thomas always have to question everything I did?

"It is," Thomas agreed, with slight hesitation. "But as far as I'm aware, eavesdropping at the door to somebody else's conversation is not considered an acceptable thing to do, even in a free country."

"Excuse me," I said, somewhat offended. "I was _not_ eavesdropping. I was just...I was just..."

I groped around in my head for an explanation other than eavesdropping for my actions. "I was just listening in to a conversation that was not my own without the permission of the conversers," I said triumphantly.

For a few moments, Thomas maintained a completely stoic expression, but eventually, a smile broke through. And then my mouth betrayed me: I grinned back. He really did have a beautiful smile. No, I wasn't thinking those things. What was wrong with me?

Thankfully, I was saved any further internal questioning by the very door I had been listening at swinging open, and Carson stepping out of it.

"Good God!" he exclaimed, nearly jumping when he saw us. "What on earth are you doing out here?"

O'Brien now joined the peculiar gathering outside the door. "Thomas?" she said.

There were a few moments of puzzled looks being thrown about the group, before I decided, as the odd one out really, that I should leave.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I was just on my way to the library. I shall leave you all here."

I waved a casual arm, and hurried back down the corridor, my head filled with curiosity at O'Brien and Carson's conversation, and confusion over my own bizarre emotions about Thomas. I couldn't help, however, but catch a few final words before I turned to go into the library.

"Strange, most strange," Carson was saying.

"I don't care what their ancestry is," said O'Brien. "I don't trust her or her stuck-up aunt, and I'm not curtseying to them for as long as I live!"

Feeling resentful and not wishing to hear another word, I pushed the door open into the library, and tried to focus on the reason I had left the drawing room in the first place.


	6. Chapter 6

"Oh, Nellie!" my aunt exclaimed, hurrying down the corridor towards me. "My dear, are you alright?"

"Aunt Eglantine, whatever are you on about?" I asked, quite perplexed. It was mid-afternoon, and the continual rain since my awkward encounters on the way to the library several days ago forced everyone to become housebound.

"Nellie!" said my aunt, flapping her hands about in a most dramatic manner. "I hear you have been the victim of _stealing_."

"Stealing?"

"Yes. Of _theft_."

Deciding not to point out that I was well aware what stealing was, I continued to feel most confused by my aunt's words.

"But what—"

"That scoundrel!" exclaimed my aunt, answering my unasked question. "That bumbling footman, William. He has been discovered with a number of your possessions below stairs. Of course, I hear he is to be dismissed at once, and rightfully so, but still..."

I wasn't listening to my aunt. William? Stealing? Why, I hadn't even noticed any of my possessions to be missing, and the shy footman was probably the least likely culprit. This was terrible, this was...Something my aunt had said suddenly registered in my head.

"Wait," I said, cutting off her ranting about unrestrained staff. "William is to be dismissed? Immediately?"

"Why, yes," said my aunt. "And well done too! Why...Nellie, where on earth are you going? Nellie!"

But I had already turned around and was running down the corridor away from Aunt Eglantine, heart pounding in my chest. William could not be dismissed. I had to do something. I _had_ to. I was out of breath by the time I reached the staircase, but I could not stop, for I feared every minute longer I took might be too late. My aunt's voice, calling me back to her, was growing fainter and quieter with every step I took.

Reaching the familiar looking vase, I took an abrupt right turn, the sounds of my aunt's calls now completely inaudible. Down another set of stairs I went, breathing rapidly and cursing the decision to wear corsets and tight shoes. But I eventually reached the bottom of the staircase, stepping into the plainer corridors of downstairs. I only had to follow the sounds of voices to reach the kitchen, whereupon I burst in, panting. The babble of noise ceased immediately.

"I...gave...those...things...to...to William!" I gasped, clutching at a stitch in my side and taking deep breaths in between my words.

The occupants of the kitchen stared at me in complete surprise that bordered on shock. William was standing, looking possibly the most surprised of all of them, wearing his coat and clutching a suitcase. A woman I recognised as the plump cook had been crying into a handkerchief, but now looked at me with wide eyes. Maisie, I saw too, was tearful. I noticed Thomas smoking in a corner, but decided not to pay him too much attention. Carson appeared to regain himself first.

"Miss Eleanor," he said, not completely able to keep the astonishment from his voice. "Might I enquire as to what you are doing down here?"

"My things," I said, beginning to slowly regain air in my lungs. "I gave some things to William. He didn't steal them."

Carson raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?" he said, looking to Mrs Hughes, the head housemaid, who was looking from me to William in disbelief.

"Miss Eleanor," she said, almost kindly. "Are you telling us that you gave some of your possessions to a young footman?"

"Y—yes," I said. And then, more resolutely, "Yes. I did."

"You gave," continued Mrs Hughes, still disbelieving, "a pearl necklace, a gold brooch, and some lace _underwear_ to William?"

"Yes, I—wait, _underwear?_"

"Indeed, yes," put in Carson. "Some expensive lace underwear was also discovered in William's possession."

Wondering vaguely I hadn't noticed any of these things missing, and wondering whether I would dearly regret my answer to this question, I decided I had no option but to continue with my story. It was the only thing that might save William from dismissal.

"Yes," I said, nodding importantly. "I did. I gave all of those things to William, and he did not take anything without my permission."

"Well..." said Carson, looking once again towards Mrs Hughes. "It is difficult..."

"Mr Carson," I said, attempting to swell with as much importance as I could muster when red-faced and slightly out of breath. "I do hope that you will not continue to punish William for stealing, when I have quite clearly told you that he is innocent." I raised my eyebrows at the confused and flustered butler.

"No, no," he said. "Of course not, Miss Eleanor. Mrs Hughes...?"

"Yes, of course," said Mrs Hughes, hurriedly. "William, there is no reason for you to leave. It is quite clear that Miss Eleanor gave you her...her...her things."

Whether they believed me or not, I doubted very much whether they would go against the word of a guest of Lord and Lady Grantham's, no matter how little they thought of me and my aunt.

The minute that Carson and Mrs Hughes had left the room, William stepped towards me.

"Miss Eleanor," he said, "I swear...I never...I swear I didn't—"

"I know," I said. "I know that you would not steal from me. Especially not underwear and pearls."

"I don't know how they got into my room, I promise!" William cried, getting flustered.

"Maisie," I said, turning to my dress maid. "Please take William and get him unpacked again. He's not leaving any time soon."

"Very good, Miss Nellie," said Maisie gratefully, taking a distressed William by the arm and leading him from the kitchen.

There was silence in the kitchen now, save the quiet sniffs of the cook, who still clutched a handkerchief to her face. Everyone was looking at me as though I were completely bonkers, which I supposed was understandable, considering they now thought I handed out my underwear hither and thither willingly. Deciding I had completely outstayed my welcome, I turned and left the room, passing an awkward sort of grimace to everyone as I did so.

Before I reached the bottom staircase, however, somebody called out. "Miss Dean?" It was Thomas.

"Why did you do that?" he said. There was accusation in his tone, as well as slight disbelief.

"Do what?" I said.

"Stick up for William. Lie like that. Unless..." he raised an eyebrow at me, questioningly.

"No," I said exasperatedly. "I do not make a habit of handing out my lace underwear to footmen."

"So then why did you lie for him?"

I shrugged. "Because I know that he didn't steal those things, and I don't want him to be dismissed when he doesn't deserve to be."

"But how did you _know_ that William didn't steal those things?" Thomas pressed on.

"William's a nice boy. He wouldn't do a thing like stealing."

Thomas frowned at the floor, placing his hands in his pockets and running his highly polished black shoe along the tiles.

"Sometimes," he said. "Sometimes, people aren't quite what you think they are."

"I don't—"

But before I could question what he meant, O'Brien appeared by the stairs.

She nodded to me by way of a greeting, but there was a sour expression upon her face.

"Thomas," she said. "You're needed by Mr Carson. _Now_," she added.

Thomas rolled his eyes and walked away without turning back. And with one last furious look in my direction, O'Brien walked away too, leaving me alone. There was something insanely familiar, however, about O'Brien's retreating figure, which jogged something in my memory, though I could not for the life of me recall exactly what it was.

x-X-x

"Nellie, where _have_ you been?"

I should have expected an inquisition upon my immediate return upstairs, but it did not make it any more pleasant.

"There have been all sorts of rumours circulating! About how you have been giving out your underwear to just about anybody who walks the corridors in this house!"

This was completely absurd, of course, though it did leave me marvelling at the speed gossip could spread through a house of this size.

"Aunt Eglantine," I said, calmly and simply. "You are mistaken. Everyone, it seems, was mistaken. There has been no stealing, and nobody is getting dismissed."

"But then—"

"Aunt, please," I said, getting slightly frustrated. "It is not difficult to comprehend. William did not steal my things, and is therefore staying here."

"Eleanor, I do not wish you to use that tone with me. It is really most ugly. Now, I insist you go and prepare yourself for dinner. You are covered in grime. You haven't been frolicking about downstairs, have you?"

"No, of course not."

"Well, I suggest you go and get cleaned up immediately. I'll send Anna to do your hair; she does it most charmingly. And we really must have you looking your best. The Duke is coming for dinner, and no doubt you will want to please him."

My aunt was still completely oblivious to the fact that pleasing the Duke of Banbridge was the last thing I wished to do. However, having already been checked for my cheek, I decided it would be imprudent to do anything other than smile and nod along with my aunt's words.

x-X-x

I studied my reflection carefully in the glass, wondering if I had changed at all since that day several weeks previously when I had been preparing for dinner in Larkford House. True, I looked much more elegant with my hair elaborately done, and my face had more make up than I had ever bothered to put on before. But essentially, I was still the same, wasn't I? So why did I feel so strange? Since arriving at Downton Abbey I had rarely felt as though I were myself, and wondered who, or what, the _real_ Nellie Dean was. Was it the quiet, solitary girl from Larkford House, who enjoyed reading and speaking with the gardener? Or was it this awkward, uncouth niece of Lady Eglantine, who strutted about Downton Abbey, being rude to Dukes and bossing around members of staff? What had I become?

"Miss Eleanor?" asked Anna, who was preparing my dress. "Are you alright?"

I realised then that some of my internal woes must have etched themselves upon my face. I hastily rearranged my features.

"I am quite well, Anna," I said, forcing a smile and standing up.

"I hear the Duke of Banbridge has requested your presence in particular this evening," Anna said, as she began pulling at my corset.

"Yes, indeed," I said flatly. "It is sure to be an evening to remember."

Anna, unsure whether to say anything in response to my words, merely smiled sympathetically at me, and continued to help me into my dress, a relatively pleasant piece in deep burgundy red. It certainly made a change from the ounces of pearls and lace my aunt had been insisting upon recently. When I examined my full reflection, however, I had my doubts.

"The colour," I said to Anna. "Do you not think that it is too dark?"

"Oh no, Miss," said Anna. "It goes impeccably with your skin. You are lucky, you know, to be so naturally pale. Her Ladyship insists upon powdering Edith and Sybil most profusely. That is hardly at all necessary for you."

Though this was a compliment, and I smiled my thanks at Anna, I could not help but feel uneasy as I made my way down the staircase to greet the others.

"_Miss Eleanor,_" drawled Edward Yorke as I entered the drawing room. "I am so _delighted_ to make your acquaintance once again."

I assured the Duke that the feeling was mutual under the watchful eye of my aunt, and graciously accepted a seat next to him, whereupon I was swept up into a discussion about Edward Yorke's latest achievements.

Matthew Crawley, I noted while the Duke's voice drifted in and out of my concentration, had once again joined us for the evening. I was briefly caught up in his charm and good looks, but then remembered that he was "already promised to Lady Mary" and when I saw them together a little later on, I wanted nothing more than for them to be happy together.

"Isn't that right? Eh?"

Edward's voice cut in to my head, and with no idea whatsoever what he was talking about, I nodded and said, "Absolutely."

Dinner, thankfully, chose this time to be announced, saving me as we all trooped into the dining room.

"Miss Eleanor, would you do me the greatest honour of sitting with me at dinner?" Perhaps I was not about to be saved, though I had expected very little else.

"Of course," I said, through gritted teeth. "Nothing would give me further pleasure."

At this, I made a face to nobody in particular, which was returned by Sybil with a smile of laughter, and by my aunt with a stern glare.

Dinner ensued with the general clatter of cutlery and plates. I nodded agreeably to just about everything Edward said, occasionally giving a shake of the head, just for a change of scene. It didn't seem to make any difference anyway. I found myself drinking an inexplicable amount of wine over the course of the dinner. Perhaps it was the mundane conversation continually flooding through my ear that forced me to do _something,_ anything, be it eat or drink, in order to remain sane. But I noticed that Carson was refilling my glass again and again, until I could feel my head becoming quite fuzzy. The dinner party began to blur slightly around the edges.

"I hear you are a keen reader, Eleanor?" asked Edward, perhaps realising now that conversations were not generally one sided.

"No," I said. "Yes. Maybe. A little." What was I even saying?

"I'm not a bad reader myself," he said, evidently noticing nothing unusual in my answer. "Perhaps I could recommend some books for you? Ever read _The Automobile_? _Very_ interesting magazine. Used to be called _The Horseless Carriage_."

"I, um..." I tried to focus on his face, but the hazel eyes swam in front of me. "That would be lovely," I said. "Now, if you would excuse me, I just need some air."

Somehow, I will never know how, I managed to stand up and walk to the door with an insane amount of composure for a young lady who had drunk more wine than ever in her life before. It was not until I reached the seclusion of the corridor outside that the full effect took hold, and the corridor seemed to lurch sideways. Stumbling through a door onto a patio, I gratefully felt the cool air on my face, and leant against the patio railing. Closing my eyes, I longed for the world to stop spinning in front of me.

"Miss Eleanor."

A voice made me jump, and in my state, I staggered sideways. It was the Duke of Banbridge.

"Oh, God, not you," I mumbled. Thankfully, I was slightly incoherent.

"I am so glad that I have found you," continued the Duke, oblivious that I had said anything at all. "I have been most anxious to talk to you. In private, you know."

"And why," I slurred, blinking rapidly up into his face, which was now an awful lot closer to me than I had realized, "did you wish to see me in—in private?"

"I have," he said, "a most _pressing_ question which I must ask you." At this, he placed a hand on my arm, which quivered at his touch. I gulped, having a horrible feeling what was coming next, but sincerely hoping that I was wrong.

"Miss Eleanor Dean," Edward Yorke said, crouching down and taking a firm hold of my hand. I placed my other hand to my face in shame. "Would you do me the honour of—of being my wife?"

I had been prepared for this, but it did not make the whole thing any easier to digest. My eyes widened, and my vision, already distorted by the wine, was blurred.

"Sir..." I started. "Mr Yorke, please..."

The Duke stood up. "Come on, Eleanor," he said, placing an arm around my waist and drawing me closer. "You cannot refuse. I know that you love me."

And with that, he drew me up to his face and kissed me. Now, I had never kissed a single person before, save the occasional aged relative or family acquaintance. But this was nothing like I had ever known. It seemed to go on forever. When I opened my eyes and saw his closed ones in close proximity to my own, I decided that enough was enough.

I pulled my lips away from his. I did not love this man at all. There was no way on earth that I was marrying him, whether it was what everybody wanted or not. There had to be more than that in a marriage. I had no desire to hurt anybody's feelings, but I was quite determined to make my intentions clear. Perhaps the wine did not help in expressing this.

"I will _not,_" I said slowly, brushing my hand past my lips and watching the Duke's face. "I will never marry you, Sir. That is quite the last thing that I should do with my life. If I were to marry you, I should be quite miserable, and I am certain that I do not want that. I am very sorry, _sir_, if I have led you to believe otherwise, but I have _never_ loved you. Never even _liked_ you! And I will never, ever marry you. So you had better pin your hopes upon somebody else!"

Whether I had considered the consequences of my words fully or not, I was quite sure that nothing could have prepared me for the Duke's reaction. I expected him to be angry, to scream at me, push me, perhaps even cry. But he did none of these things. Instead, he blinked several times in my face, and then, apparently coming to his senses, waved away my refusal with a sense of bravado.

"Well!" he said. "Well, Miss Eleanor, I can see what's happened here! Yes, indeed. Well, fine! Refuse me then, but you're missing out, you know! I doubt you shall ever get to be as fine and rich as I am! Your aunt's money won't last you forever, you know, and I don't know what you're planning to do then, but I suspect it doesn't involve owning lots of cars, ha!"

And with that peculiar valediction, the Duke of Banbridge swept from the patio. I heard him make his hasty excuses to the Crawleys and then the slam the front door as he left Downton Abbey.

Regaining what use I still had in my limbs, I took myself back inside, and, without bidding anybody good night, I went upstairs to bed.


	7. Chapter 7

"I hear the Duke of Banbridge is engaged to be married," said Robert over breakfast one morning a few days later.

My aunt looked up from her tea, totally aghast. "But how could this be true?" she exclaimed. "I was quite sure he was after my dear Nellie. Unless..."

She turned to me, whereupon I furiously shook my head to indicate that it was _not_ I who was marrying the Duke.

"Well," continued my aunt, obvious disappointment on her face and in her tone, "I did think you had a good chance with him, Nellie."

"As did I," put in Cora. "I honestly do not know what could have happened to change his mind."

Thomas flicked a glance at me when no one was looking, nosy as usual. I chose this moment to suddenly become very interested in the milk jug, avoiding all eyes, for I didn't trust myself in the slightest to conceal that more had passed between me and Edward Yorke than anybody realised.

I knew I had been acting odd since that fateful night, yet my aunt had not mentioned my behaviour at all. She was probably under the impression that I was pining over the Duke of Banbridge. At the arrival of this news, Aunt Eglantine had reached out and patted my arm sympathetically. But she could not be aware that it was not sorrow and jealousy that possessed me. I had been racked with guilt all week since I refused the Duke's proposal. The _way _in which I had spoken to him...I was repulsed at my own character. The news of Edward Yorke's engagement almost brought me happiness, for I could at least feel as though the Duke were now satisfied. Indeed, although I was disgusted at the way I had handled things, there was an inexhaustible feeling of relief that I was at last free.

I still felt a bit peculiar, however, and made my excuses to the company, not even caring that all present would think that I was saddened by the Duke's engagement.

Was I though?

Perhaps this _was_ why I felt so strange and melancholy. Perhaps I regretted my decision to turn the Duke down. Maybe the wine had distorted my judgement that night, and I should have accepted. But no. That was ridiculous. I did not love the Duke, and no matter what anybody thought, I considered love most important in a marriage. But the entail, my aunt… _Had_ I done right?

Half an hour of reflection later, Maisie came up to visit me in my bedroom.

"Are you alright, Miss Nellie?" she asked. "Only Lady Eglantine thought you might have taken ill."

"Oh, no, no," I said, sitting up from where I had been lying sprawled on my bed. "It's just..."

It was then that I thought I might feel a little better if somebody else knew of my woes.

"Look, Maisie, can you promise to keep a secret?"

And so I poured out my tale to my kind, simple dress maid, starting with the dinner and the wine, and then finishing with the slamming of the front door. I was surprised, however, to find many details of the evening blurred, or else completely irretrievable. That that was the work of the wine, I supposed. When I had finished telling her, Maisie's eyes were as wide as saucers and her mouth was hanging open like some absurd caricature.

"So, you mean to say that the Duke of Banbridge proposed to _you_?"

"Yes."

"And you refused him?"

"Yes."

"But whatever will your aunt say?"

"She's not going to say anything, because she is not going to find out."

"You mean you are not going to tell her?"

"No, Maisie, I am not. That is the general nature of a secret."

"But you most definitely refused marriage from Edward Yorke?"

"_Yes_."

"Well, Miss, I think you have made a mistake there."

"Whatever makes you say that, Maisie? The man was most vulgar. I should have hated to be married to him. My life would have been most miserable and unfair."

"Of course it would have been, Miss. We are women. Our lives will always be unfair."

"So you believe I ought to have married a man I did not love?"

"Well, the Duke of Banbridge would have made a fine match for you, Miss Nellie. And as for love, sometimes mere tolerance of a person is enough in a marriage."

"Oh, Maisie," I said irritably, regretting ever having said anything to her in the first place. "Really, you have been spending too much time with Aunt Eglantine. Now, please, leave me to my thoughts, will you?"

x-X-x

After lunch, which had been a solemn affair, as my aunt was still mourning the loss of the Duke of Banbridge as a nephew-in-law and assumed that I was doing the same, I found myself alone in the corridor that led away from the dining room. Following it and allowing my feet to take control, I discovered the very same patio door which I had burst through several nights previously. Opening it, I stepped outside into the patio, which was more or less submerged in water from the incessant rainfall. Splashing over to the railings, I took up a position very similar to the one I had been in when the Duke had proposed, and tried to set things straight in my head.

I hadn't loved the Duke. I _didn't_ love him. And yet, was there a hint of regret that I had refused his hand in marriage? His words still rang in my head. _"Your aunt's money won't last you forever..."_

What _was_ I going to do with my life? Why _had_ I refused a proposal that would surely ensure my survival and success? I reckoned that every other girl of my age would have jumped at the opportunity. I supposed, depressingly, that I would not receive such a generous offer again. I wondered, now. Had I been faced with my present feelings at the time of the proposal, would I have been more inclined to accept his request?

I gripped the railings. I could practically feel the Duke next to me, as though we were replaying the moment. His face had been so close to mine..._why_ hadn't I just said yes? Then my mind wouldn't be in turmoil. Granted, I would most likely be miserable, but at least I would feel some stability.

Footsteps padded on the ground behind me; it was surely the Duke returning! There had been a mistake...he wasn't really engaged...I would accept his hand in marriage...we would...

I turned. It was Thomas.

"Oh," I said, unable to keep the resentment from my voice. "It's you."

Thomas raised his eyebrows at me in mock offence. "You know," he said, "a simple 'Hello' would have been a more ordinary greeting by far."

I said nothing, begrudging the footman's presence. I turned back away from the door, willing him to leave me in peace. But he did not. Instead, he took up a position by the railings next to me. I rolled my eyes.

"What do you want?" I said, sighing.

Thomas shrugged. "There's nothing that cheers me up more than bothering somebody else."

"No," I muttered. "I've noticed."

Leaning against the railing, he let a sly smile play on his lips. "You know, I couldn't help hearing you had an offer from a certain Duke…"

"You know," I said, frustrated at my maid's inability to keep anything secret, "news travels remarkably quickly around here."

"Not much goes on around this place," said Thomas, shrugging again. "We need something to talk about downstairs."

"I'm so glad to have been of assistance," I said bitterly.

"Oh, we owe you a great deal in terms of conversation. I swear you and that aunt of yours have been in constant use as discussion topics since you arrived."

"Why must you be so intent on annoying me?"

Thomas appeared to consider this before answering, "I'm renowned for being evil. It's my job."

"Come on!" I said. "You are hardly _evil_."

"I should take offence at that," said Thomas.

I rolled my eyes at the ground, frustrated that I didn't have anything clever to say in reply to this.

"Well," he continued, with a demure lilt that I was immediately suspicious of, "for the lady's sake, I do hope she likes _The Automobile_, whoever she is."

I had to laugh. It wasn't that funny, but after all my anxiety about the engagement and my prospects, it was a blessed relief to hear someone be light-hearted about it.

Grinning slightly, Thomas took out a cigarette, lit it with a lighter, and proceeded to puff away.

"If it's any comfort, I'm on your side," he said, talking through the cigarette.

"With the marriage, you mean?" He nodded. I gave a humourless smile. "You're the only one."

"Why, though? I don't see why everyone was so keen on the match. Dinners are no fun with him. Cars, cars, cars, 'sall he talks about. I _hate_ guests like that. Family dinners are all right, 'cause Mary and Edith always give a good show, but I do like an interesting guest. Even better if he's rude. Banbridge just bored me to tears."

"Are you a connoisseur of dinner conversation?"

"I've got to find my amusement somewhere."

My mouth twitched. "I suppose I'm one of the boring guests, then?"

More smoke. "Quite. You always keep your mouth shut, never a word." Perhaps _that_ was what Thomas said about me downstairs.

"Very sorry. Well," I continued, "I'm quite decided. I'll never marry anyone who bores the footmen."

He lifted his eyebrows at me. "I'm flattered you defer to my taste."

"Not in everything. But in this case, I think we can both agree." Silence succeeded this statement, in which Thomas smoked and I stared at the veranda, becoming gloomy again. Some thoughts are like snakes that just keep wriggling in, no matter how hard you bat them away. "I still wonder if I made the right decision," I muttered.

"Why?"

After a few seconds' deliberation, I decided I could tell him the bare bones. "My aunt wants me to—"

"Nellie!"

The sound of Edith calling my name made us both whip around.

"Nellie, thank goodness I've found you. I...what are _you_ doing here?" This last was directed to Thomas, whose mouth opened in a response he clearly did not have.

"We were just..." I started, realising I was similarly unprepared to give a response. What _were_ we doing? "We were just, you know, talking," I finished, with an air of confidence.

"With a _footman_?" Edith questioned me, in a complete stage whisper. I felt Thomas stiffen slightly beside me.

"Yes?" I said, staring Edith out. "Yes, with a footman. Is that against the law?"

"No," said Edith, still sneering slightly at the two of us. "But your aunt has taken unwell, Nellie. I suggest you go to her."

"Right," I said, nodding. "Thank you, Edith. I shall be in presently."

Edith returned my nod, and then, with one last puzzled look at us, returned back inside.

"'Nellie'?" said Thomas questioningly, the minute Edith had disappeared.

"It's what everyone calls me," I said, shrugging. "Unless it's a formal occasion or I am in trouble, it's always just 'Nellie'."

Thomas appeared to consider this for a moment, before:

"Like the elephant."

"Oh, shut up."

x-X-x

My aunt, it seemed, had been sent to bed with a fever that had overcome her suddenly after breakfast. As it appeared, she hardly needed me to return to her side. In fact, she batted me away with a handkerchief as soon as I had closed the curtains in her bedroom for her, claiming that she needed rest.

"Will she be alright?" asked Cora, the minute I came out of my aunt's room.

"I should think so," I sighed.

"Ought we to send for a doctor or a surgeon?"

"I don't think that will be necessary," I said. "Perhaps if she worsens. At the moment, it seems she just wants to be left alone."

"Alright," said Cora. "I'll have something sent up to her later."

She smiled at me before turning to walk down the corridor and leaving me alone.

With the absence of Aunt Eglantine, I spent an unusually enjoyable morning with Matthew and Mary in the library, and was extremely grateful to accept an offer to return to Crawley House with them for luncheon, without the need to consult my aunt first. Of course, I was still concerned for her well-being, and gave word to Cora to send for me immediately should anything change in her condition.

We journeyed over to Crawley House in the car, driven by a most agreeable Irish chauffeur who told me, among other political things of which I understood very few, that his name was Branson. He seemed to like this politics lark a great deal, and I think took it for granted that I did too. Mary informed me afterwards, as we were crossing from the car to the house, that Sybil had become a bit opinionated in regards to the political situation. She said that Branson (who was new; apparently Taylor had retired to start a tea shop) rather took it that he could discuss these matters with just about anyone now, and have it found as equally interesting as Sybil did.

Crawley House was a simply charming home, much smaller even than Larkford House, but the inside was beautifully bright and polished.

"Is that you, Matthew?" a voice called from a room within.

We proceeded into a brightly lit parlour, where a woman whom I had never seen, but suspected her identity, was just rising from her chair to greet us.

"Matthew," she said. "You've arrived just in time for lunch. And _Mary_, so delighted. And..." She turned to me. "You must be Lady Eglantine's niece, Miss Eleanor?" She looked to Matthew for confirmation, who nodded. "It is wonderful to meet you, dear," she said.

"And you," I said. Because it felt like the right thing to do, I took her outstretched hand.

"I work at Downton Hospital. I expect you've heard of it?"

"Well, not really but—"

"Oh, dear. I must tell you all. We work on some _really_ marvellous projects over there. All under the helping eye of Doctor Clarkson, of course. Really wonderful fellow. And we get a lot of help from volunteers, you know, and..."

If I had thought I knew _anything_ of Downton Hospital, it was nothing to what Mrs Crawley informed me of that afternoon. I had never realised tales from hospitals could be so interesting and varied. And so _plentiful_. I could barely get a word in edgeways, save the occasional nod in agreement, or murmur of enthusiasm. It was like being back with the awful Duke, except with Mrs Crawley I didn't need to feign my interest. For I was a little interested in the goings on in a hospital, at least at the beginning of the conversation.

"You must come again," said Mrs Crawley, as Mary and I left Matthew and his mother to return to Downton. It was now dark outside, and dinner would surely start soon.

"That would be lovely," I said. Matthew smiled at the two of us and waved goodbye as we climbed into the car.

"Matthew wanted to apologise on behalf of his mother," Mary told me, smiling, as we trundled back along the road. "He felt most awfully sorry for you; she barely left you alone all afternoon."

"I didn't mind," I lied.

"She means well," continued Mary. "She is just so passionate about the hospital; it is very easy to get her on the subject, and yet practically impossible to get her off it again."

x-X-x

I was joined that evening by Maisie in my bedroom. She brought news that my aunt was no worse, but certainly no better, though she had not been asking for me. Which I was slightly offended at, but oh, well. I hardly needed help to get out of my simple evening dress and ready for bed that evening, but Maisie lingered about all the same. I suspected that she did not want to rejoin the other staff; she confirmed my suspicions when she disclosed to me that not all was well downstairs.

"It's all Thomas's fault, of course," said Maisie, removing my hair pins as I sat in front of the mirror.

"I wish you would not speak of him in such a way, Maisie," I said, frowning. "He can't be as bad as you say."

"He's done things I don't like to speak of, Miss," said Maisie.

"Things?" I said to Maisie's reflection in the mirror. "What sort of _things_?"

At this, Maisie seemed to think that she had said too much. "Oh, nothing really, Miss. Just lots of horrible things. He's just a horrible person really—"

"_Don't_," I said, through gritted teeth, "speak about Thomas like that."

"But why?" asked Maisie innocently. "Everyone hates him."

I turned around to face Maisie, amazed at her bluntness. She raised her eyebrows at me in response, denying having said anything wrong at all. Then her features re-arranged into an annoyingly 'knowing' smile.

"Oh, Miss Nellie," she said. "I should think you have become rather taken with young Thomas."

"Oh!" I spluttered, blushing hotly. "Well, that is just ridiculous! Maisie, thank you; I can finish here myself. Please leave, immediately. I am shocked at your impudence!"

Maisie, far from shrinking from my scolding, merely smiled further, forcing me to stand up, snatching my comb from her hands.

"Leave me alone!" I said. "I don't want to hear another word about Thomas...or...or about anything! He has all the charm of an incessant and annoying mosquito; why on earth would I—oh, just go away!"

At this, Maisie realised my temper was not to be tried and hurried from the room.

"Oh!" I cried, remembering something suddenly. I grabbed the closing door as Maisie left and called down the corridor to her, "And thanks for telling just about everybody that I was proposed to by the Duke of Banbridge!"

I realised, now, that I had probably made a mistake. This was confirmed when I gave the corridor a final sweep, scowling at Maisie's retreating back, and saw a familiar tall figure, just visible at the opposite end of the corridor. I did a double-take at the sight of Thomas, before hurriedly withdrawing back inside and closing the door.


	8. Chapter 8

My aunt was no better the next day. Visiting her in her bedroom after breakfast, I was disconcerted to see her looking so...so _bedraggled_. As I was used to seeing Aunt Eglantine in finest splendour, it did come as something of a shock to see her in bed, pale beneath her flushed cheeks and her unkempt hair spread about the pillow.

"You know," she said to me, in a croaky voice most unlike her own. "It really is most strange, Nellie. For last night, I had a bizarre dream in which I heard your voice."

"My voice?"

"Indeed. I heard you quite clearly."

"And what did I say in this...this dream?"

"Well, I believe it was along the lines of 'I was proposed to by the Duke of Banbridge!'"

I felt my stomach twist. _How_ had I been so foolish as to shout that in the corridors at night? Especially as my aunt's room was barely yards from my own.

"Oh, really?" I said, with an air of interest. "That is most strange." I gave a false, nervous laugh. "I guess you must have been thinking too much about the news we heard over breakfast yesterday."

"Hmm," said my aunt. "Perhaps. Now, leave me, Nellie, for I need my rest."

Several visits were made in this way throughout the course of the following week, each one bringing news that Aunt Eglantine was no better. Cora called Doctor Clarkson in on Friday, who brought no comfort in his words.

"Could be Pneumonia," he said, after examining my aunt. "Can't be too sure though. You'd best just wait and see if her condition changes."

"Oughtn't you to give her anything, Doctor?" asked Cora.

"Not until we know more."

Cora, unhappy with Doctor Clarkson's diagnosis, even called upon the assistance of Matthew's mother, something Sybil told me she avoided out of a matter of principle. But Mrs Crawley had little else to offer us.

"As much as I hate to admit this," she said, "I feel that Doctor Clarkson is perhaps right. Monitor the situation carefully."

And so I took up a vigil beside my aunt's bed, talking to her when she felt like conversing, which was seldom, and fetching her water and attending to her needs. As the days progressed, passing through into the second week, I began to worry that there was no improvement in her health. I knew little of sickness and medicine, having never studied such things, but a conversation with Robert Crawley far from reassured me.

"How is your aunt?" he asked me one frosty morning, as we found ourselves strolling together on the grounds.

"No better, I'm afraid," I said. "I thought we'd have seen some improvement by now."

"Now, now, Nellie," said Robert. "If indeed it really is Pneumonia, we cannot expect recovery just yet."

I said nothing for a little while. Something was playing in my mind from his words.

"Will she...can we expect...is recovery certain?"

Robert sighed. "Look, Nellie," he said, in that way adults talk to young children when they are breaking bad news. "I'm certainly no doctor, and I don't claim to be, but Pneumonia is vicious, and your aunt is no longer as young as she used to be. I'm not saying," he said hurriedly at the sight of my face, "to expect the worst. I leave that kind of drama to my mother. But all I'm saying is, do not expect your aunt to recover as quickly as you might want."

He smiled at me, and I smiled back, not wanting him to think me affected by his words. But when we reached the entrance to the house, I did not follow him back inside, and instead walked around the side of the house, searching for a secluded spot where I could be alone with my thoughts. I flung myself down on a patch of frosty grass that overlooked a group of trees in the distance. Spotting Maisie going off to the village, I felt annoyed at first, still having not forgiven her for her cheek the other night. But none of that really mattered any more, did it?

Why did it matter if Maisie thought I liked Thomas? Which I obviously did _not_. I had been avoiding him completely all week. But who cared really? Aunt Eglantine was ill. Seriously ill by the way people were talking. Would she make a recovery? What would happen if, heaven forbid, she didn't recover? A cold hand suddenly crept around my heart, hard as iron. What if she _died_? It was a horrible idea, and my breath caught at the thought of it. Aunt Eglantine, though we had often not seen eye to eye, had been my stability, my _life_ for eighteen years. I did not think I would be able to cope without her.

I leant against the stone wall of Downton Abbey behind me and put a hand to my face, surprised to find it wet with tears when I drew it away. I did not even know why I was crying. I was being ridiculous. My aunt wasn't going to _die_. Perhaps, right now, she was sitting up and barking orders at some poor maid. But I knew, in my heart, that this was not true.

I returned back inside a short while later, my hands numb from the cold and dress damp from the grass. To my utmost despair, I bumped into Thomas as I attempted to pass through the entrance hall without being seen. I endeavoured to side-step him to the right, but he also stepped that way, blocking my path. I tried the left, but he stopped that way too. After several seconds of ridiculous footwork, I stopped and glared up at him.

"I didn't know you were training for the ballet," he said, smirking.

"Oh, be quiet," I snapped. "And get out of my way."

As was expected, this did absolutely nothing. Thomas smirked wider. "You could try saying please."

"And you could try stopping being such an arse."

Thomas shoved his hands in his pockets, but did not move. "You flatter me," he said, drily.

I sighed. "What do you want anyway?"

Thomas shrugged. "Nothing," he said, maddeningly vague. "I was just passing through."

"Then pass through," I said, crossly. "And let me be on my way."

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Somebody's not happy today."

"My aunt is very ill," I snapped. "Of course I am not happy."

At my words, Thomas appeared to become almost meek. "Of course," he said. "Right. Sorry."

I stared at him in surprise. "I don't _get_ you, you know," I said.

He was indignant once more. "What do you mean?"

"One minute," I huffed, "You're irritating and infuriating, and the next you're...you're..." I struggled, wondering what I could safely bring myself to say.

Thomas raised his eyebrows expectantly. "I'm...?"

"Nice," I finished lamely.

"Nice?" Thomas scoffed. "You're possibly the first person ever to use that word to describe me. I haven't the best of reputations, to be honest."

"I've heard," I said darkly. "But reputation is for time, _character_ is for eternity."

"What...? Where do you get all those philosophical quotes from?"

"I read a lot of books," I said hurriedly, shrugging. "All I mean is, I'm not going to judge you based on word of mouth and reputation. I'll make my own judgement on your...on your _character_."

"And may I ask what this judgment is...?" asked Thomas.

"No," I said, shortly. "Now, I really must be going. If you could just move out of the way..."

Thomas did not move. I sighed.

"...please."

He smirked. "That's better," he murmured, and stepped to the side.

"Thank you," I said stiffly, stepping past the wretched footman. "Goodbye."

I walked away, still horribly conscious of Thomas's stare. Why did he have to be so bothersome? I crossed the entrance hall and went up the grand staircase. It was only as I reached the top that I remembered the woes of my aunt's health. It was odd; for a moment, I hadn't felt worried. It was as though the iron fist around my heart had been loosened somewhat. Very strange indeed...

x-X-x

That night, however, as I climbed into bed, I could not suppress an imminent feeling of foreboding. I tossed and turned until the covers became tangled snakes around my body. When I eventually drifted off, I was haunted by dark shadows in my dreams. I was being chased down a corridor that seemed to have no ending, I was running and running and getting no closer to any destination. Something was right on my tail, and then it clasped a hand on my shoulder. I tried to shake it off, but it gripped harder. I was trapped! I was—

And then I woke up and realised that somebody really _was_ shaking my shoulder. It was Anna.

"Anna!" I gasped, clutching my chest. "What are you—?"

"It's your aunt," said Anna, helping me sit up. "She's taken a turn for the worse. His Lordship's sent for the doctor."

My eyes widened; the iron fist clamped hard around my heart once more. I swallowed.

"Alright," I said. "I'll go to her."

I followed Anna down to my aunt's room, where I could already tell that something was not right. Cora and Robert were already there; Cora stood beside my Aunt Eglantine's bed while Robert paced about near the window.

"_Nellie,"_ said Cora as I came in.

I said nothing. I made my way apprehensively past Cora to my aunt, who was lying in her bed, grey and withered.

"Aunt Eglantine," I breathed, going to her side and taking up her cold hand. She stirred at my touch.

"Doctor Clarkson should be here any moment," Robert assured me. And sure enough, the door burst open to reveal William a few moments later, dressed rather haphazardly, leading Doctor Clarkson into the room.

I was pushed out of the way as Doctor Clarkson hurriedly examined Aunt Eglantine, before pouring something down her throat. When he was done, he stood to face us. Cora put a hand around my shoulder.

"She is stable," the Doctor stated. "However, I cannot be sure that she is cured for good."

He spoke a few more words to Cora and Robert, but I heard none of it. I just stared at the sleeping figure of my aunt, the great Aunt Eglantine, a mere shadow of her former self. I remembered how she used to strut about Larkford House, oozing glamour and sophistication. But not anymore. I was jolted back into the present by the click of the door as Doctor Clarkson left.

"Nellie," said Robert comfortingly. "Why don't you go back to bed? There is nothing we can do at the moment."

I nodded, finding suddenly that I could not speak a word.

I went back into my room, climbed into the cold, damp sheets, and closed my eyes. But it was a long time after I heard the clock strike three that I eventually drifted off to sleep, and when I did, I was once again haunted by dreams. This time, however, I was not being chased. For I was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

x-X-x

My first thought the next morning was that I must see Aunt Eglantine. I _had_ to now that she was alright. But before I had even stepped out of my room, I was visited by Cora, who informed me that my aunt was no worse, but that she should be left to rest. I protested at first, but something in Cora's tone was similar to that of a mother's, and I decided it would probably be best to do as she said.

All plans of sitting with my aunt all day abandoned, I wandered the corridors aimlessly all morning, drifting about with no purpose. I thought of going to the library, but decided that it seemed too far away. Sybil, who had obviously been told of the night's events, asked if I wanted to walk with her to the village, but I said no. I would rather be near Aunt Eglantine. Mary asked if I might join her and Matthew for lunch again, but I refused on the grounds of not wishing to be social at this time. Even Edith appeared to have a heart at this time, for she actually requested my presence to play cards with her. But I did not feel like doing _anything_. I felt completely lost and alone, despite being surrounded by people who were asking for my company.

That afternoon, Robert asked to see me in his study. No matter what I felt, I could not quite bring myself to refuse Robert Crawley.

"Ah, Nellie," he said when I entered. "Come and sit down."

This I did, feeling at first as though this must surely be the announcement of the bad news, but then I remembered that it couldn't be, for I had heard from Cora that my aunt was still the same.

Once I sat down, Robert spoke again. "Listen, Nellie," he said. "We, that is, Lady Grantham and I, have been thinking. And we have decided that it would be best for you to return to Larkford House with Lady Eglantine, and for your aunt to rest and recover there. We have spoken to Doctor Clarkson, and he feels that this may also be the best course of action."

"But..." I began, thinking of my aunt's condition on a long journey.

"We are quite sure," interrupted Robert, obviously reading my thoughts, "that your aunt will be perfectly alright for the journey. If we did not think this, then we would not have suggested such a plan."

"No, no," I said, worried I had offended him. "Of course you wouldn't have. Thank you. I understand what you have said perfectly, and will prepare to leave immediately."

Then Robert smiled. "It is not quite necessary for you to leave just yet. We will have Branson prepare the car for your departure in the morning. We really are," he added, suddenly grave, "_very_ sorry that this has happened. We were so very much enjoying your visit."

Suddenly in danger of getting too emotional, I merely nodded. "And I was enjoying it very much too."

x-X-x

I went down the stairs by the vase, with the intention of informing Maisie of our departure. Before I got to her, however, I met Carson at the bottom of the stairs, whose eyebrows lifted disapprovingly at me. Clearly, he still remembered the Underwear Incident.

"Ah, Carson," I said. "Have you seen Maisie? I have some...some news that I wish to convey to her."

"Not bad news, I hope?" asked Carson, softening slightly, and I felt a strange rush of affection for the man.

"Not yet, anyway," I said. "My aunt and I are to leave in the morning. We are returning home. Perhaps you could convey my regret and farewell to the rest of the staff?"

"Of course, of course. You will be dearly missed, Miss Eleanor."

"Thank you for saying so, Carson," I said.

"Maisie is in the Servants' Hall," he said. "And I believe she is alone."

"Thank you," I said, and walked past Carson to the Hall. I pushed open the door to reveal Maisie sitting at the scrubbed, wooden table, darning some socks.

"Oh, Maisie," I cried, the sight of her flooding memories back to me. I rushed over to her.

"Miss!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Whatever is the matter?"

I took a seat next to her and took her hand in mine. "We are to leave in the morning. Back to Larkford House."

"But—"

"It is Aunt Eglantine. She is not at all well and...and they feel she may recover better at home."

"But she _will_ recover? Miss Nellie?"

"I...I don't know. I honestly don't know, Maisie. I don't know what to think."

Maisie squeezed my hand reassuringly. "Don't worry, Miss Nellie. Things will turn out alright in the end. And if they're not alright, then it's not the end."

I smiled, even though tears were now forming again at my eyes. "I knew I got my philosophical phrases from somewhere."

"Am I to return with you?"

"Yes. I mean, that is to say, I would very much appreciate it if you did. I know you have settled in marvellously here, but you don't know what it would mean to me to have you by my side when...when...when we return home."

Maisie smiled understandingly. "Of course, Miss. It would give me great honour to continue to serve with you and your aunt. I take it now that I am forgiven for the letting slip about the Duke of Banbridge?"

I smiled as we both stood up. "I guess so," I said. "Just make sure you don't breathe a word to Aunt Eglantine. For I am quite sure that she would have something to say on the matter!"

We were even able to laugh together, as Maisie left to gather her things and give people notice that she would be leaving with me in the morning. I watched her retreating figure, and was just about to turn and go back upstairs when I heard a step behind me. Turning around, I saw it was Thomas. My breath hitched at the sight of him. I had forgotten. Leaving Downton Abbey would also mean leaving him. _Why_ did this suddenly mean so much? _Why_ could I not tear myself away from his grey eyes? Once cold and unforgiving, now mesmerising and entreating, they were getting closer and closer as he walked towards me.

"So," he said, when I had been forced to back right up against the wall. "You're leaving tomorrow? Forever?"

"Y—Yes," I stuttered, Thomas's face insanely close to my own.

Thomas's eyes closed, and for one wild moment I thought that he was going to kiss me, and my own eyes closed in response, but then the reality of the situation took hold, and they snapped open again. But the moment was gone, and Thomas was stood a good metre away from me.

"Well," I said, trying to form a farewell in my head. "It's been…"

Been what? Nice talking to him? Nice knowing him? What was I supposed to say? I felt like I ought to say _something_, a parting word perhaps, a summary of our time together, but nothing came. Nothing had _really_ happened between us anyway. If I _really_ wanted to summarise our time together it would revolve heavily around him being infuriating, and me being infuriated by him. That was it, wasn't it?

Before I could formulate a reply properly, Thomas seemed to read something in my countenance and his face stilled.

"Goodbye, Miss Eleanor," he said, in a very still, professional manner, speaking not quite to my face, but rather to the patch of wall directly behind me.

This farewell, completely void of emotion, stunned me out of silence.

"But..." I began.

Thomas's eyes flickered to mine, expectant. "What?" he said. "There's hardly anything _else_ to say here, is there?"

And then, with one last look that held nothing whatsoever, Thomas turned, and was gone.

And the next morning, I helped and followed my aunt into the car, and together, we left Downton Abbey for good.

x-X-x

A few weeks later, I found myself in my aunt's bedroom, holding her still, limp hand, and knowing that the end was nigh. As Aunt Eglantine's chest rose and fell for the last time, I allowed the tears to fall freely down my face, knowing at least that she was suffering no more.


	9. Chapter 9

x-PART TWO-x

"A letter for you, Miss Dean."

"Thank you," I said, realising how often I was being referred to as 'Miss Dean' these days. It was as though I had replaced my aunt as Lady of Larkford House.

I slit open the letter. Post had been a common occurrence over the past few weeks since my aunt's death, mainly condolences from various relatives and friends and invitations from people who had clearly not heard the news. These were perhaps the hardest to bear. But this letter was of a different sort completely, cold looking, official. With a feeling of dread, I slit it open. It was from a Mr A. E. Poe, a name vaguely familiar to me, and relayed the following information:

_Dear Miss Dean,_

_Until recent unfortunate events, I was the late Lady Eglantine's solicitor, as you may know. Allow to me to present my most heartfelt sympathies. She was a wonderful woman…_

Here followed the usual sort of condolences, which I had grown all too used to, and therefore felt justified in skipping.

_I here pass onto a subject which is very painful for you. However, it must be discussed. No doubt you are aware, but the Dean estate is entailed to the next male bearing the Dean name, which happens to be George Dean, the late Sir William Dean's third cousin twice removed. _

_It grieves me to pain you, Miss Dean. I am sorry to be the bearer of this news, but Lady Eglantine left about two thousand pounds to you—_

Well, that was more than I expected, in view of her spending habits. Why the bad news—?

—_nearly all of which will be claimed by creditors._

Oh. Yes. I see.

_I am afraid that she owed roughly £20,000 to various tradesmen, in addition to several unpaid loans amounting to £100,000; if you use your inheritance, you will owe £118,000. This is not counting the mortgage loan Lady Eglantine placed on Larkford House, but I will take care of all that. However, if you will consent to auction off the furniture and other possessions of value, I believe that you can pay all your debts and have a little left over. I of course will arrange everything. Expect me in three weeks._

_Yours faithfully, Mr A. E. Poe. _

And that was all. I read it again and again, frowning. But I realised that no matter how much I read it, the information was not going to change. I felt my stomach knot. Some cousin whom I had only met twice would be wandering about the familiar corridors of my home, fingering Aunt Eglantine's vases, kicking me out onto the street. What was I going to do? What on _earth_ was I going to do? £118,000 was a staggering sum, and our—my possessions were, perhaps, worth that amount, but where would I go from there? Where would I live?

I had no money of my own, never having needed it with my aunt around. Horribly, I remembered the wretched Duke of Banbridge's words, _"your aunt's money won't last you forever."_ How true this statement was now. I had nothing. I had _nothing._

x-X-x

Mr Poe was very kind. He apologized profusely for not giving me money (who was asking him to?) and bundled off everything from the bookshelves to Aunt Eglantine's precious vases to my dresses.

As the morning light filtered in through grimy windows (I had let the staff go almost immediately after my aunt's death), strange men tramped through the house I had called home for twelve years, raising up dust and moving everything. When one of them dropped my aunt's favourite turban on the floor, I winced.

_But you never wanted any of this anyway._

_Yes. But having nothing is worse._

At least I saved my books. They weren't very valuable anyway.

x-X-x

Mr Poe had not been quite precise. Aunt Eglantine had actually owed £118, 507. The auction netted £118, 556. Which meant that I owned exactly £49. It was positively Dickensian.

x-X-x

Larkford House was officially foreclosed and I was officially homeless. With a sack filled with books, lacy underwear, the plainest, rattiest black dress I could find (I think Maisie left it), stockings, and no food. In defense of the underwear, the men had left it behind, and I figured I might as well take it. It might come in useful. Sometime.

Seven shillings paid for a hackney. One pound paid for the cheapest board I could find, and I was lodging in a flea-ridden inn. How long the money would last, I didn't know. I didn't know anything.

The next day, I began searching for work—meaning, I walked into random millineries and asked if they were hiring. No one ever was, even though I offered to demonstrate my skill with a needle (which wasn't bad.)

Three weeks of this, and I was down to 45 pounds, and that was on one bath every two weeks. [

Panic was always lurking at the edge of my mind, waiting to spring. I could lie to myself all I wanted; a hundred pounds was not a great sum in the large scheme of things. It would run out, and I would not be employed by the time it did. I had never worked a day in my life; I was not qualified, I—I wasn't _good enough_. I never had been. I had failed as a socialite, I had failed as a worker; I would never be—

Stop, Nellie. Just stop. Even if those thoughts were true, it wouldn't help to think them. Pressing my fingers to my temple, I decided to scavenge yesterday's newspaper for the help wanted section. Again.

And nothing. Again.

x-X-x

By the time I was down to 25 pounds, I was beginning to wonder if I would make a good beggar. Maybe if I ripped my dress a bit and put a bandage around my eyes…

No other ideas came to me. Really, the cracked, spotted ceiling was poor inspiration. I had tried everything, hadn't I? Perhaps it _would_ come to begging.

Throughout all this, I tried very hard not to blame Aunt Eglantine for my present situation. One mustn't speak ill of the dead, after all. That said, if she had only saved a pittance, I wouldn't be dining on watery gruel every morning.

What a fool, to think that any man would marry me, I thought, with the savage pleasure that comes from grinding salt into your own wounds. I would hardly have made a good wife, seeing I couldn't seem to make myself useful at anything whatsoever.

I had been an utter fool not to take up Banbridge on his offer. Who cared what Thomas said, it would have been a good establishment—

The door shook with three loud knocks. That was the thing about being poor. People weren't polite when you were.

Suppressing a groan, I rose from the bed and unlatched the door, revealing a disheveled servant standing in the hall, thrust-out hand holding a letter. Without a word, she gave it to me and tramped off.

Wondering who on earth would write to me, I tore the seal and plopped down on the bed without looking at the direction. Two letters fell out; one from Mr Poe, the other one from Cora Crawley tucked in an envelope. Obviously, Cora had not heard the news that I was living in a squalid boarding house. Picking up Mr Poe's letter, I found that Cora had sent something to him, since she didn't know my address. Burning with curiosity, I perused her note greedily, then was obliged to lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling in shock.

She was asking me to work as a maid in Downton Abbey, only if I felt I had no other options. She hoped I wouldn't take it as an insult, but she had heard that my circumstances were very bad. It would be no trouble at all—Mrs Hughes would be happy to train me (Her Ladyship was too sanguine on that score). Once again, she apologized for the presumption and hoped I wouldn't be offended; she was only trying to assist. It was entirely possible that rumors had exaggerated my situation.

Offence was the farthest thing from my mind. To be quite frank, this job was a godsend. Rumors probably _had_ exaggerated, but 25 pounds, while a respectable sum, would not last me long enough to find work, particularly since I was the least qualified employee ever. Undoubtedly, I would be worked hard, with little pay, but anything was better than no home.

x-X-x

The car trundled up the oh-so familiar path, rocking gently beneath me, occasionally lurching as it rolled over a particularly uneven patch. I felt sick. Sick right to the bone. Everything about the journey had been so familiar, and now, it was even more so. I dared not look out of the window, for the sight of Downton Abbey—so vast and beautiful, and yet so wistful of times gone by. I was quite sure the mere sight of it would be too ghastly. Of course, I thought, I would have to deal with it at some point. Some point soon, by the looks of things.

But so much had changed since I had last travelled up this long gravel drive, so much had changed since I wandered the corridors of this giant mansion. Last time, I had been with Aunt Eglantine...oh, Aunt Eglantine. I missed her _so_ much, it was like having a constant pain in my chest, that never, ever went away. Although I couldn't help resenting her for the state of my finances, I couldn't help missing her either. I had felt the need to be strong, but at night, away from various lawyers and obnoxious landladies, I had broken down into my pillow. I felt so lost, so alone. Nothing was laid out for me anymore; I was totally undecided, my future inexpressibly uncertain.

I unconsciously fingered the ornate silver locket that I had been wearing continually around my neck since it had fallen in to my possession (I had discovered it inside a drawer when clearing out my aunt's bedroom, and couldn't bring myself to disclose it the auctioneers, though it was ridiculously foolish of me). Tucked away, it came with a note upon which had been scrawled, _engagement gift for Nellie. _Inside the locket had been two tiny photographs of people I barely recognised, but knew instantly who they were: my mother and father. Though I had hardly known my parents—even Aunt Eglantine had been more parental to me—I could not help feeling a strange sorrow on looking at the locket, and had a sudden desire to keep it with me at all times, for it was the only memory of the parents I never knew. I thought again of the note, _engagement gift. _I sighed, and, bizarrely, I also found myself thinking of that wretched Duke of Banbridge, whose marriage and proposal now seemed so mundane and futile. Why had any of that mattered? My aunt had been alive, why hadn't I been happier and appreciated life as it was? If I had only married the Duke, my aunt needn't have died in such misery, knowing that I had nothing, and I would have been able to live a life that was financially comfortable.

"Miss?"

A voice made me jump. It was then that I noticed the constant moving under the car had stopped, and I was no longer shaking with the rolling over gravel.

"We've arrived, Miss."

As if I needed telling. My stomach lurched suddenly with nerves and apprehension, as the chauffeur stepped away from the window. I tried to steady my breathing, tried counting slowly in my head, _anything_ that might calm me. Eventually—the chauffeur must have thought I was crazy waiting in the car the whole time—I calmed myself, and climbed down from the car onto the gravel drive below. I could not help but remember the previous time I had made this journey, I had been assisted down.

There it was. I looked up at the vast architecture that was Downton Abbey, breathless once more. It must have still been beautiful, for it had changed not one bit since I had last seen it, but I found myself unable to recall is splendour, and felt only daunted and overwhelmed. My chauffeur, it seemed, had had enough of waiting and, after a quick toot of his horn, drove away, leaving me completely alone. Sighing heavily, I picked up my small, battered suitcase, and walked over to the large oak door. According to the five books I had bought (all of them canvassing the duties of a servant), one always went through the back door, but I had no idea where that was. So, the front door it was, with a heartfelt apology to Carson.

I had never entered Downton Abbey in this manner before, with no servants to greet me and my aunt…missing. I rang the bell, and waited apprehensively for an answer. It seemed like an eternity. And then, a horribly familiar butler with large eyebrows opened the door. His eyes popped from their sockets at the sight of me, seeming almost in physical pain. I stared him out, and he then apparently composed himself.

"Ah, yes," he said, perhaps more to himself than to me.

"Nellie Dean," I said, presenting myself with a slight curtsey. "New maid."

"Yes, yes. Indeed," said Carson, nodding, still looking most peculiar. "Come in Miss...Miss...Miss Dean."

Taking a deep breath, I crossed over the threshold. The entrance hall hit me like I knew it would, but the effect on me was quite unexpected. My breath caught in my throat, and I felt suddenly as though I were in a dream, as though I were separate from myself, looking down at the scene. So much had passed through this entrance hall...I remembered arriving there on that stormy October night, meeting the Crawleys...I remembered departing there in a flurry of tears and goodbyes, accompanied by Aunt Eglantine in a wheelchair...and then I remembered when I had bumped into Thomas on my way for a walk...Thomas. I had not thought about the footman at all since that fateful night, and had had no reason to. My head had been far too full of my aunt, and other problems to think about some silly infatuation. But, I thought suddenly, I would be unable to avoid Thomas now I was back at Downton Abbey...Oh, why, oh, why had I accepted this position? It was bound to bring back too many memories, memories that ought to be swept under a rug and never spoken of.

"Miss Dean?"

That was Carson, jolting me from my thoughts.

"Y—yes?" I said.

"His Lordship would like to see you. And then I shall show you...show you downstairs. No formal introduction will be made, not really necessary anyway...So..."

I nodded. "Yes, alright. Of course. Oh, and I'm sorry I used the front door. I didn't know where the back was, and I didn't see anyone I could ask."

Pressing his lips in a thin line, he gave a curt little nod.

It was so odd, speaking to Carson in this way. It was awkward, to say the least, I just didn't know how to react around him. Everything was so different now...I knew that a formal introduction would have just set itself up as an awkward situation, and so I was glad that this was not going to happen.

I had been particularly hesitant of greeting the Crawleys again, for too much had passed for us to act in the same way around each other. And, after all, I was their maid now, and I had seen enough at Downton to know that I would most likely be ignored at all times.

I passed into the library, feeling weirdly uncomfortable that I instantly knew the way.

"Nellie!" Robert Crawley strode towards me, looking exactly the same as I remembered him.

"Good afternoon, Lord Grantham," I said, curtseying and feeling most ridiculous. Just months previously, we had been on first-name terms, and now I was calling him 'My Lord' and bowing at his beck and call.

"We really are _so_ glad you decided to take this offer," said Robert, smiling.

"Thank you, Sir. It was a most generous offer for me. I could hardly refuse."

"And we were deeply sorry to hear about Lady Eglantine. A marvellous woman, she really was."

I nodded, not really knowing what to say.

"Cora wanted to see you, you know," continued Robert, obviously realising I wasn't going to say anything. "But she has gone out with the girls. We weren't sure when you would arrive, you see."

I nodded again, feeling as though this were probably for the best. It would make for less awkward encounters anyway.

"Right," said Robert, now it was evident the conversation was going nowhere. "How about Carson will take you down, show you the ropes, as it were?"

I nodded at his words, feeling as though my neck might soon break from excess nodding, and returned Robert's kind smile, before following Carson from the room.

"Just so you know, N-Nellie," said Carson, struggling initially over referring to me as anything other than 'Miss Eleanor', which now would be most inappropriate. "Everyone really is pleased that you took up this post."

"Indeed?" I couldn't help raising my eyebrows just a little, as Carson was wearing the most forced smile I had ever seen, and did not seem pleased at all.

"We were all terribly sorry to hear about your aunt, and I am glad that you have chosen to return."

This was kind of Carson to say, but I knew it was a complete lie. Everybody downstairs had hated Aunt Eglantine, and probably me as well. They considered us stuck up, or else not worthy of our station. Bitterly, I felt they thought we had probably got what we deserved.

But then I thought of somebody who might not feel this way, who had certainly not seemed to hate me. Thomas. I suddenly realised something: I couldn't do this. I could not return, see Thomas again after all this time. Especially seeing as our farewell had been so…awkward. And he hadn't been about to kiss me. It was just my imagination. Besides, sometimes my memory was quite faulty.

Oh no, we had reached the familiar vase, which meant we were approaching the turn to the downstairs staircase. I stopped.

"Nellie?" it was Carson. "Are you alright? Surely you haven't forgotten the way already!"

This was said in good humour, and this small expression of friendliness was enough to jolt me back into my senses. Of course I could do this. I would not let anything, or anyone, get to me. Not even the vile Lady's maid, O'Brien. It was as if I were wearing thick armour around my plain dress, and nobody could penetrate it.

With this new sense of invincibility, I smiled and followed Carson downstairs.

This feeling, however, trickled away rapidly as we reached the door to the servants' hall, and I suddenly felt as defenceless as a mouse faced with a cat. However, there was no turning back now. Taking a deep breath, I entered the kitchen with Carson.

There had been some people talking at the scrubbed wooden table, but they rose immediately out of respect as Carson entered. There was an intake of breath, however, when they saw me accompanying him.

Carson, ever the professional, ignored this behaviour, and lent over to speak to someone I recognised as Mrs Hughes. I took this opportunity to look at the other occupants of the table, searching for nobody in particular. There were several people I did not recognise, though, to my displeasure, I _did_ see O'Brien, looking as disgusted and offended by my presence as ever. I also saw William at the end of the table, characteristically looking apprehensive in every direction other than at my face. But, a quick scan of the room did not reveal the certain 'nobody' I was looking for.

"Mrs Hughes," said Carson, interrupting the silence, "will take you to your room, Nellie and let you...settle in. Your work won't begin until the morning, so no need to worry about that."

I nodded. "Thank you, Carson," I said, my voice sounding strangely different and separate from my body.

I did a brief nod of acknowledgment to everybody in the room, trying extremely hard not to actually make eye contact with anybody, and followed Mrs Hughes up a plain, narrow staircase to which I had never seen before.

"We've put you in the west bedroom," she was saying.

"Thank you," I said, having no idea what this meant at all.

"Well, it should be comfortable enough for you. Obviously, not what you're used to..." Mrs Hughes trailed off, and I said nothing, feeling self-conscious.

We seemed to climb forever; up and up, until I felt almost dizzy for going around the narrow staircase again and again, and I was quite sure that we must be right at the top of the house. But eventually, it seemed, we reached our destination. Two long corridors stood on either side of me behind a wooden door with a large pane of glass in the middle. I approached it slowly, peering through the glass at the corridor behind, which seemed to have doors leading off all the way along it. But before I could utter a word, a door opened to my left, making me jump. And out stepped—

"Thomas!" exclaimed Mrs Hughes. "You gave us both quite a fright."

Thomas said nothing. He looked _exactly_ the same as I remembered him. Tall, his dark hair swept neatly across his head. His grey eyes flitted between Mrs Hughes and myself, his face utterly expressionless.

Mrs Hughes, noticing nothing untoward, continued. "You remember Nellie Dean? She has arrived as the new maid. I was just showing her to her room."

Thomas still said nothing, but was frowning slightly. He was showing barely any recognition whatsoever, a reaction that hurt, but I was not quite sure why. Anyway, it wasn't like he _meant_ anything to me. I had been foolish to think that we had gotten in any way close during those several months previously.

Thomas then merely nodded to nobody in particular, and strode past us to the door. I watched his retreating figure for a few moments before Mrs Hughes spoke and brought me back to reality.

"I wouldn't worry about Thomas," she was saying, having absolutely no idea. "He's like that with everybody. Never has a good word been spoken about him, I tell you. Unless you talk to O'Brien, and I'm not sure I would advise that either."

Why did everyone hate Thomas? Besides the fact that he was sarcastic, annoying, rude, and downright infuriating, I really couldn't think of anything he had done to deserve universal dislike. Oh, wait. A jingle of metal on metal alerted me that Mrs Hughes was extracting a large loop of keys from her belt. Selecting one, she inserted it into the lock in the door.

"Why...?" I started, but Mrs Hughes guessed at my question.

"We keep these quarters locked," she said. "Only I am supposed to open the door. Though, of course, it opens from the inside, so it does not quite work perfectly. We cannot be too careful."

This slightly ambiguous answer left me curious as we passed through the door, Mrs Hughes carefully closing it behind her with a click.

"Your room is right at the end," she said, brightly.

I opened my mouth to thank her for this, as she obviously felt that this was some kind of treat, but she had launched into a long speech about the duties of a house-maid and how I wasn't to be seen or heard and how I _most certainly_ wasn't to have a sweetheart. At the end of all this, which I did my valiant best to listen to, she informed me that Anna would show me around on her time off, and I was to wait in my room until then.


	10. Chapter 10

I awoke the next morning in a hard, unfamiliar bed to a room swamped in darkness. I had discovered the previous day that my bedroom was very small and bare, with a tiny window that emitted little light, even when sun shone. Now, however, it was pitch black outside, indicating that it was still very early. However, I knew that I would be expected to rise sooner now, and the sound of movement in the outer corridor confirmed my suspicions that I should probably get out of bed. Stepping out of the sheets and onto the chilly floor and lighting a lamp which gave off a soft, yellow light in the room, I thought longingly of the carpeted surfaces in my bedroom at Larkford House. But I shook myself internally. I shouldn't think like that; it wasn't right. I must be grateful for what I had now, and not always be thinking of what I did not have anymore. With this resolution, I pulled the maid's dress on, trying extremely hard not to think about the distinct abscence of lace and pearls. Though, I thought brightly, I had never really liked them anyway. Crossing over to the mirror above the tiny dresser, I tried to look past the smears of dust to my own reflection.

I was surprised to find that I recognised myself. For some reason, I had expected to look different, changed somewhat. I felt that I had gone through so much; I could not possibly look into a mirror and still see the same person. And yet, my eyes were the same blue, and I was still pale, despite the fact that I was wearing no powder on my face. In fact, the only thing that showed that anything had passed during the last few months was that my hair was merely scraped from my face, save a few strays that hung, limp around my face instead of elaborately styled. Also, the dress. I sighed. The change from wealthy middle-class girl to a penniless maid was complete. No wonder Thomas had given me such a cold reception the previous day. Sighing, I opened my door and stepped out into the corridor, whereupon I was immediately pushed past by some maid I did not recognise. Everyone present in the narrow corridor seemed to be jostling to and fro, full of purpose. I stood, completely at a loss, trying to remember what on earth I should be doing. After showing me my quarters, Mrs Hughes had led me around the house, pointing out things I was supposed to do in the morning. Fires. I was supposed to light fires, starting in the bedrooms. Deciding it would be deemed inappropriate to stay standing in my doorway, I headed down the corridor with the intention of going downstairs, and hoping I would bump into Anna, who would hopefully inform me exactly what to do.

Downstairs in the kitchen, I was relieved to discover both Carson and Mrs Hughes among a babble of other people that unfortunately included Thomas. I was trying decidedly hard to ignore him, feeling that his reception last night had obviously shown what he thought of me now. I smiled a greeting to Carson, and was about to ask what I should do when he answered my question.

His eyebrows lowered at me threateningly. "Nellie! You're fifteen minutes late!"

"Sorry, sorry. I suppose I'll just… get the wood and coal. From the scullery. And start on…" I groped for nice sounding rooms. "The library?"

"Yes, yes, go!" And then, in an undertone to Mrs Hughes, "Really, I don't understand why she was hired."

My back ramrod straight, I edged through the crowd, pointedly not looking at Thomas.

"Do you know how to light fires, Nellie?" Mrs Hughes called after me, looking very doubtful.

"Oh, yes," I said quickly. "It's fine, seriously. I'm sure I can manage."

"Well," said Mrs Hughes, unconvinced. "If you're sure..."

"Yes," I said brightly, striding towards the scullery with an air of confidence I had summoned from somewhere. "I'll...I'll see you all in a bit then."

Ten matchsticks later and I was rapidly regretting my decision to be so proud. I couldn't seem to make the flame catch, no matter how I stacked the logs. What was worse, it had been half an hour, and I was supposed to light all the reception rooms, according to _Duties of the Good Servant_, or, as I liked to call it, _Rules Broken by Thomas Barrow._ Stupid fire, light already. Wonderful, now I was on my twelfth match, and still no luck. Even worse, I had gotten a bit of soot on my cuff.

'"It's fine, seriously. I'm sure I can manage!"'

A voice made me look up, and I saw Thomas, strutting triumphantly towards me, and mocking me in a way I would only have expected from him. I wanted to make a rude reply, not caring any more, but found that I did not have the energy, and merely glared at him.

"And don't tell me you need help, 'cause I can't get my livery dirty," he said, setting a tray full of dirty glasses on a lampstand.

"I didn't ask for your help," I said, turning back to the fireplace and fiddling with it some more. Why hadn't I been taught anything useful?

"Not wise, not wise," he clucked. "You need it."

"No, I don't," I said, indignantly. And then, in a much smaller voice, "Maybe."

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Here," he said. "You stack the logs in a triangle. You put the little twigs under the logs, bein' sure to leave gaps in the triangle so that the fire has air."

Ignoring his blatant sarcasm, I arranged it as he had suggested. "Like that?"

"Very good. Now, light the twigs. With the match, see?"

"Yes, I see," I said with gritted teeth. It was very early in the morning; let that serve as my excuse.

"I read in the papers that your aunt snuffed it."

"You know," I said, watching the twigs take to the flame, "it's nice to know that some things never change. Whatever happens, you'll always be rude. So comforting."

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw him smirking at the tray. This did nothing to improve my mood. "Yes, she 'snuffed it', as you so eloquently and politely put it."

"I never liked her, anyway. Bloody annoying. How'd you get hired?"

"I wasn't under the impression that I'm obligated to tell you anything," I hissed, standing and picking up my buckets of wood and coal. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go to the drawing room."

"That just happens to be where I'm going."

I made some kind of non-committal, infuriated noise in my throat, but said no more, wondering why on earth I suddenly felt like laughing.

x-X-x

Fortunately, Mrs Hughes had caught Thomas interrogating me and scolded him for dawdling. Grinning, I had lit my fire in peace.

But I was clearly not going to be allowed to eat breakfast in the same state.

"And it's not as if any men would even look at you, anyway," O'Brien was telling Gwen and Anna when I walked in. And then, all talk petered away, as it always seemed to do whenever I entered the servants' hall. Thomas glanced my way sharply, as if he were measuring me.

I stood on the threshold, taking them all in. There were a few new faces, one in particular belonging to a heavyset man with kind eyes.

Cheeks burning, I made my way to sit beside Thomas, because he was the most familiar to me, whatever his…shortcomings. The only problem was that this put me in close proximity to O'Brien.

Ignoring all the eyes upon me, I reached for a pitcher of tea and commenced piling food on my plate, being famished.

"So you're the new housemaid," said O'Brien, glowering at me. Thomas, taking up a newspaper, didn't appear to hear. "Must be quite a shock, seein' you were a grand lady not six months ago."

"O'Brien," Anna warned, gently chiding. "Give the girl a rest; she's just lost her aunt."

"We've all got dead relatives," O'Brien spat. "Doesn't stop me from answerin' questions." Lighting a cigarette, she stared at me. "Won't the work be too hard for you, _milady_?"

I put my tea down with a clink, examining the faces around me. On most I found scepticism, but on some there was interest, even sympathy.

"I'm not a lady," I said. "Honestly, I don't think I ever was."

"Aye, ladies don't go around handing their underwear to footmen," said O'Brien.

"O'Brien, that is quite enough," snapped Mrs Hughes.

"Can't deny it happened. Well?" O'Brien turned to me again. "How'd you weasel your way into Downton, when you can barely light a fire and know naught o' service?"

"Obvious, isn't it?" said Thomas, lowering the paper at last and blowing smoke at everyone. "She's a charity case."

I think I've might have gone white. Glancing at me, he grinned. "Oh, don't worry. You're not the only one." His eyes went from me to the man I hadn't recognized, with a little mocking smile.

"Fancy a smoke, O'Brien?"

Wordlessly, she stood up and left, Thomas following close behind.

"Don't mind him," said the man. "He's like that to everyone. I'm John Bates, by the way, valet to his Lordship." He extended his hand; snapping my gaze from the door Thomas had just gone through, I turned back to him and took it.

"Thank you," I said, and I meant it. "Nellie Dean."

x-X-x

I had been a fool not to expect it. I should have known by his non-existent greeting the first time that he wanted nothing to do with me. Well. I didn't want anything to with him either. And really, what did it matter if some footman called me a charity case? I had better things to worry about, like surviving the remainder of Carson's 'introductory tasks' such as carrying three beds' worth of sheets to the other end of the house, and sweeping and scrubbing several dusty corridors. Later on that evening, I found myself in the servants' hall, every muscle aching. It was virtually empty, save for William at the piano. It had come to light that he was a remarkably good player, entertaining everybody with jolly dance tunes. But now, the room was growing dark, the lamps had been lit, sending a soft glow in every direction, everybody had gone their separate ways, and William was now playing a slow, quiet tune that only added to my sleepiness.

But my day was not quite over yet. Anna's apron, snagged on a piece of furniture, was laid on the table in front of me, and I was faced with a ripped seam, a needle, and some thread. Taking up the apron in my hands, I set about closing the gap, realising too late that the light was terrible for this sort of thing. Nevertheless, I worked at it, bringing the fabric right up to my face so I could pull the thread through as neatly as I could.

After half an hour, I realised that the music had stopped. William was gone, and I was completely alone. Three more inches of needlework, and I would be done.

I was very nearly at the end, when I sensed, suddenly, that I was not alone. I looked up to discover none other than Thomas himself, standing by the doorway. I literally jumped.

"Good God!" I exclaimed. "Can't you ever just walk in and say 'hello' like an ordinary person? Must you insist upon frightening me half to death by hovering like that?"

Thomas shrugged, coming into the room properly. "I could," he said, after some apparent consideration. "But that wouldn't be half so entertaining."

"Don't you have anything better to do than bother me when I'm trying to finish the last of my work?"

"I just thought I'd come and see if you were done," Thomas said nonchalantly.

"Well, then you're in luck," I said, hurriedly pushing the last stitch through. "I've just finished." I picked up the apron, feeling that this meeting should be cut short immediately, but Thomas seemed in no rush to leave, taking a seat beside me.

Examining my handywork carefully, he nodded, apparently satisfied. "Not bad."

"Thank you," I said stiffly. Hoping to make him go away, I said, "What did Mr. Bates do to you?"

"What?"

"Mr. Bates. The valet. You looked at him after you said I was a charity case. Oh, I know." I held up a hand. "He's the valet. You wanted to be the valet, didn't you?"

"How'd you know that?"

"I accidentally overheard," I said, waving my hand dismissively.

"You mean your ear accidentally got stuck to the keyhole?"

"No, I got lost—"

"Of course."

"And happened to hear your conversation with Carson," I finished.

"What conversation with Carson?" came another voice. O'Brien had now entered the scene.

"Nothing," said Thomas, rolling his eyes.

"Well, go on," said O'Brien, expectantly to me. "You can't have been talking about nothing, girl."

I frowned, not at all pleased with being referred to as 'girl', but I couldn't really say anything anymore. I was below O'Brien now. "I was just..." I started. "I mean...I'd just mended Anna's apron. She asked me to, and I did." O'Brien looked from me to Thomas.

"she _asked_ you to do this, did she?"

"Yes."

"Well, well, let's see then," said O'Brien, with a sour smile. "I'd like to know what the wonderful Miss Eleanor Dean considers a mended seam."

The apron was passed to O'Brien, who scrutinised it.

"Ah, just as I expected," she said, and I knew that praise was the last thing I was going to get. "This stitching is far too elaborate. That seam won't last two days. I expect she'll have to take it out, and do it herself. It's no good wasting time with girls who think they're above us. They don't know a thing about how things are done below stairs."

I thought about opening my mouth to protest, but found I did not have the words. I hated O'Brien, _hated_ her.

Thomas just rolled his eyes.

I swallowed, finding it suddenly very hard to retain composure. "Fine," I said. "Fine, I'll just...I'll just go then."

And, with that, I turned abruptly from the room, leaving both of them alone in the increasing darkness.


	11. Chapter 11

I had taken it upon myself to just ignore Thomas entirely, and this worked, if not to great effect, for the next few days. I was surprised to find that over a week had passed since I had returned to Downton Abbey. Life, I had found, had managed somehow to slip into a routine that felt absurdly normal. I had gotten used to being awoken at dawn and dressing alone in my cold bedroom, gotten used to working hard without a break with the other maids, hurrying about upstairs along the corridors I used to walk with elegance. I grew used to counting the hours until the evening, which was my main rest period. The other maids had the afternoons off, but I never completed my tasks in time. So, no, it wasn't an ideal life, and most of the other servants thought I was a creature out of a zoo, but it was food and shelter. And Anna and Mr Bates were quite nice. It wasn't so bad, except for Gwen looking at me like I had two heads every time I made a literary reference and sore knees from scrubbing floors. Really.

Two weeks later, Cora, or Lady Grantham as it was now more appropriate to call her, requested my presence in her room one afternoon, to which I attended her with nervous apprehension.

"Nellie," she drawled affectionately, when I had entered. "How wonderful to see you again. I hope I find you well?"

"Yes, indeed," I said, wondering whether saying "milady" would be too awkward and coming to the conclusion that it would.

"Good," she said, beaming. The conversation ensued with very little speech on my behalf, and then, when all the formalities had been accounted for, Cora dismissed me.

My plans to ignore Thomas completely did not go quite according to plan, as we were thrown together in the way that occurs in a hectic environment. I could not help but pass him occasionally in the corridor, or see him in the kitchen during communal meal and leisure times. However, I made it quite plain that I did not wish to converse with him at all, feeling he had let me down irrevocably after taking up O'Brien's side instead of mine. I knew it was petty, but I could not help feeling hurt by his actions. The problem, however, was that Thomas didn't seem to realise that he had done anything wrong. One evening, as I sat by the light of the fire, not unusually the last one around, hurriedly attempting to finish some sewing, he approached me in the kitchen, sidling up confidently.

Hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't remain there long, I was bothered when he actually went as far as dragging a wooden chair over to where I sat, sitting upon it backwards. Leaning on the back of the chair, he peered down at the sewing in my hands, which I was frantically trying to keep my eyes upon.

"That's good," he remarked. It was difficult to read his tone.

I said nothing, attempting to outstare my needles.

"Look," said Thomas, and I could tell he was thinking cautiously about what to say. "What am I supposed to have done?"

This wasn't what I had been expecting, and I looked up in surprise. I found myself looking into those lovely, grey eyes...but this was not the time, and I tore myself away from them, bitter.

"What are you talking about?" I said, sighing exasperatedly.

"Well," he said. "I've obviously done something wrong, or else you wouldn't have spent the last two weeks ignoring me and giving me sour looks."

I frowned and opened my mouth to retaliate that my looks were not _sour_, but found that something else annoyed me first. _How_ could he not understand that he had upset me by siding with O'Brien? And _why_, despite my constant efforts to ignore him, was I still finding Thomas ridiculously charismatic?

"Look," I said, making preparations to stand up. "The very idea that you can't seem to comprehend that you have done wrong just makes my reasons for ignoring you even more graspable."

"I didn't understand a word of..."

I stood up, deciding that this conversation should end immediately before I said something I might regret. "You don't seem to be able to 'understand' anything, Thomas," I said, pausing momentarily to notice how odd his name felt to my mouth. "You can't treat me like dirt, and then expect me to just come crawling back to you. It's not going to work like that."

And with that, trying incredibly hard not to look into Thomas's hurt face, I turned and exited the kitchen, taking my incomplete sewing with me.

It was very difficult to describe my immediate emotions after this incident. True, there _was_ a sort of twisted elation that emerges when one has done something a little out of their normal depth. But there was also a horrid, sickening feeling when I thought of what I had said, and the affect that my words had had upon another person. However, this was nevertheless the proper thing to have done. I had to show I was a strong, independent woman, and not one of those silly girls who got thrown over hither and thither by a handsome fellow, like Maryanne Dashwood. Or Lydia. But this idea, though easy to form, was not easy to put into practice.

And so, not only was I facing troubles from the footman himself, but my actions also seemed to have brought on a backlash of hate from O'Brien. I could not even walk down the corridor in a perfectly reasonable manner without being scrutinised and sneered at for one thing or another. I had sought, however, an unlikely friendship with William, who, though he had his gawky moments, was a generally amiable person whose company I thoroughly appreciated in times of dark.

x-X-x

One morning, I awoke to find my room characteristically cold, and light barely streaming in through the window. I fumbled about getting ready, everything seeming to take an extraordinarily long time. In fact, when I next looked at the clock, I found that I was running late. Concerned that I was about to live up to the expectations everyone had had of me, and that I had so far managed to go against (at least, I thought so), I hastily tried to put up my hair. However, when I went to pin back the inevitable fly aways, I found that my hair pins were not on the shelf where I had left them. After frantically searching the entire room, which took surprisingly little time, I decided to abandon all plans to appear neat and flew out of the room regardless of my hair.

Downstairs, however, I discovered that I was still late, even if searching my room had taken a short time.

"Ah," said Carson as I appeared in the kitchen. "You've decided to grace us with your presence at last."

"Yes," I said, gasping slightly having just run down the narrow stairs at an alarming pace.

"_Nellie,_" exclaimed Mrs Hughes suddenly, apparently aghast. "What on _earth _has happened to your hair this day?"

My hands made their way up to my head, whereupon I discovered hair all over the place.

"Um..." I began, wondering what I could say that might redeem myself.

"'Um' indeed," said Mrs Hughes, raising her eyebrows. "I do recall telling you that you should always present yourself appropriately."

"Yes, Mrs Hughes," I said meekly, and went to light the fires, as I did every morning. Luckily, I made good time, enough to get to breakfast and enjoy it fully.

I took a seat at the table, the room slowly filling with noise once more. Down one end of the table, I could see Thomas trying to catch my eye. I steadfastly ignored him.

"What was it like? Being a lady?" asked Anna, her guileless eyes fixed upon me. I laid down my fork, at a loss. I really wished that she hadn't asked—though in her case, she probably meant no harm—because O'Brien and Thomas were close by.

"Er, well, it could be a bit… stifling. I mean—you always have to watch what you say, and, and, wonder if you chose the right words. And people are only your friends because you have nice things."

"Hard life."

"No one asked you, O'Brien," said Bates. "And wealth doesn't always bring happiness. Sometimes, quite the reverse."

"Spare us the platitudes," said Thomas. "A man with money in his pocket's always happier than a man with no shirt on his back."

"Yes, I don't have much to complain about, do I?" I murmured. "Fine things are nice while they last, aren't they?"

"Not when your shrew of an aunt's spending all your money on finery she can't afford and you get thrown out into the streets, it isn't."

We all glanced sharply at Thomas, who gave a casual shrug. "I read the newspaper."

"Well," said O'Brien. "You didn't try to stop her from buyin' you all that rubbish, did you?"

Before I could furiously contradict her, Carson announced the current need for breakfast to be sent upstairs, and our conversation was thus ended. I frowned to myself, contemplating the curiosity that was Thomas Barrow. In fact, I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that it was an accident waiting to happen when I was given a tray of crockery to carry over to the stores. It was all fine, the tray was firmly in my hands and I was making good progress across the room. Next thing, my foot collided with something solid on the ground, and the tray, the crockery, and not to mention myself, went flying across the floor.

Never before had I seen Mrs Hughes so angry. She had always struck me as a fair and reasonable person, but after the ridiculous scolding she gave me, I felt quite entitled to curse her under my breath as I was still sweeping shards of china, half an hour later. The expense had been deducted from my salary; and I had been banned from any excursions upstairs, obviously at risk of causing further accidents. This left me downstairs, purging the kitchen of my crime, and full of bitter thoughts. I did not even know what had happened to have caused such a disaster, and racked my brain to think of how I had actually tripped. But, already, my memory of the event was trickling away, irrecoverable forever. While I swept away, cursing Mrs Hughes and her ability to make people feel small, I also felt a sudden strong surge of hate for O'Brien, who simply couldn't wait to see me fail. Well, I thought bitterly, she was getting what she wanted now.

That evening, there seemed to be something of importance going on upstairs, and Carson could be seen bustling about fretfully, snapping at people when something wasn't done perfectly. I found out from Anna (I was still confined downstairs) that Matthew Crawley, who had been away on 'business', was returning to Downton, and Lord and Lady Grantham would be entertaining him and his mother for dinner. This, apparently, was an important affair, for all hands were called on deck to make sure the dinner got out on time and in splendour. I saw Carson's eyes widen when he saw William's buttons were done up wrong, literally seizing him just before he went upstairs to make sure he did them correctly.

Having been barred from doing just about anything that day (Mrs Hughes was leaving nothing to chance with me), I was left down in the kitchen with O'Brien and Anna.

"Well," said O'Brien. "I must say I don't think much of this whole affair, even if Mr Crawley is the new heir. I'm not bowing and blushing to Mr Nobody from Nowhere."

Finding some of my old, outspoken self from somewhere, I replied snappily, "No, that is why your presence has not been requested anywhere outside of this kitchen."

If looks could kill, I found myself wondering.

"I don't see why you should talk so boldly, girl," was O'Brien's reply. "I've noticed _your_ presence is barely even requested in the scullery. And besides, _I'm_ not the one who's in the doghouse today."

"No, not today," I said, airily.

O'Brien shot me a nasty look, ready to retort, but we were distracted from further action by the arrival of a flustered William in the kitchen, closely followed by a red-faced Carson.

"_Where_," said Carson, "is the vanilla blancmange specifically requested by her ladyship?"

Deviation of responsibility followed, everyone looking to one another for an answer. I was trying extremely hard not to catch Anna's eye, for the reliance upon a vanilla blancmange to retain order was, indeed, laughable.

"I think Nellie had it last," said O'Brien.

"What?" I replied, annoyed. "No, I didn't! I haven't seen a vanilla blancmange!" At this point, I couldn't help but smirk, feeling the whole affair quite hilarious. Carson mistook my expression for insolence, however, and spent the next five minutes speaking very seriously about attitude and blancmange, until the dessert in question was discovered still in the mould, and there was a rush to get it up to table. I was not allowed to forget it, however, and in a wild fluster during the cheese course, Carson threatened to speak directly to His Lordship, should I put another toe out of line.

x-X-x

Later, when the Crawleys had left, and peace had resumed, I sat on the staircase, listening to Thomas act maddeningly reserved while everyone attempted to hound him for gossip from the dinner.

"Lady Mary seems to have gotten over her aversion to a certain someone," he drawled.

"Would you mind telling us who?" I heard Anna's voice, which was unusually sweet, considering she usually reserved all her sarcasm for Thomas.

"Yeah, I would mind. 'Tain't right to gossip about our employers, you know."

"You really expect us to believe that, coming from you?" Bates's voice. I grinned.

"Perhaps I've turned over a new leaf. Same as you."

Silence ensued, in which I and everyone else wondered what that meant.

"William, what happened?" said Anna, choosing to ignore the above.

"Lady Mary was very nice to—"

"No, no, no, you can't tell a story worth a damn. Lady Mary couldn't seem to stop laughin' at Mr Crawley's jokes, even the bad ones. I heard them, they were bloody awful, even Edith said so. Always one to sum up a situation, Edith. She might marry him, I suppose, though I don't see what good it'll do—"

"It's the best that can be done," said Carson ponderously. "Obviously his birth is not the best that he can be expected—not even in Burke's Peerage _or_ the Baronetage—"

"Couldn't even find him in the Baronetage?" said Thomas. "That _is_ bad. Very good for Lady Mary to get her inheritance, though I don't see how it affects us; we'll continue on at Downton no matter who's in charge."

"I will serve the Granthams wherever they go," Carson retorted, sounding very stiff indeed, "and I expect every servant who is _truly_ loyal to do the same."

"Well, that rules me out, thankfully."

Though several people huffed in righteous indignation, I couldn't help grinning, just a little.

"Her Ladyship wants to speak with you," said a voice right in my ear, a voice that I recognized with the utmost dread. O'Brien stood a stair above me, her eyes expressionless.

Looking her over warily (Anna had told me stories of the tricks she played on new maids, particularly when she didn't like them), I said, "She wants to see me now?"

"Aye, now, and don't keep her waiting."

I eyed her suspiciously, and her mouth quirked just a little. But the risk was too great to ignore her, so I got up and made my way to her ladyship's bedroom.

"O'Brien said you wanted to see me, your ladyship?" I said, after a 'come in.'

"Oh, yes. Nellie."

I nearly sighed with relief.

"Nellie, are you truly settling in well?"

"Er, yes?" I lied, hoping that she wouldn't see right through me. Judging from the look of benevolent doubt and concern she gave me, she obviously did.

"Nellie, I heard about the blancmange, and how you seemed a little…amused by it all."

Carson _had_ told them, the—! No, I really mustn't call him _that_. "No, I wasn't amu—"

She held up a hand. "I understand perfectly. To someone of our sort, the little troubles of the servants can seem rather ridiculous. But when you consider that the management of a great house depends on the carefullest order and precision, I'm sure you'll understand. They're paid to do their jobs, and it's very important—to us _and_ to them—that they do it well."

"Yes, milady," I whispered, feeling rather chastened, since I _had_ laughed at Carson for getting so panicked over it.

"But that isn't what I called you here to talk about."

I glanced up, fearing the second topic even more. Had some new misdeed come to light?

"I've heard you have trouble completing all your tasks for the day, and never get time off as a result. You must be _so_ tired."

"No, not at—"

"I want you to tell me if you feel you can't do the job. We could provide for your in other ways, dear; there's no shame in charity."

"No! I mean," I continued, struggling for a measured and respectful tone, "I am perfectly content, milady."

Lady Grantham gave me pained smile, which wasn't a good sign. More was to come. "Well, if it were only a matter of your happiness, it wouldn't be a problem, but you seem to be... slowing the other maids down."

"Oh," I said in a very small voice. "Well, I didn't know I was, but I'll work faster from now on."

"Of course you will. Now, run along, I don't want to keep you from your break."

She dimpled. I gave a sick smile and departed, fully aware of how ridiculous and inadequate I was.

Crossing my arms, I rested against the wall and had a good fume. I was sure to keep a lookout, however, in case someone caught me touching the precious paint with my dirty servant self.

Really, I hadn't gotten the impression that I was _slowing everyone else down._ The rest of the housemaids completed their duties in model time; I was the only one who suffered. Who had told Lady Grantham otherwise? Surely not Anna. Perhaps Gwen had complained to Mrs Hughes?

I tried to think rationally. The day really had been one disaster after another, with the hair pins, the tray of china, the dreaded vanilla blancmange. Everything that had happened seemed to have been my doing, and all of my doings had seemed to go wrong. I remembered the smug face O'Brien had worn all day, and felt a strong desire to hit something.

I felt for the locket around my neck, searching for its cool smoothness for comfort. I found it, and closed my eyes, thinking.

It was possible that Gwen was forced to work longer hours because of me. On Wednesday, it was true, I hadn't gotten all the beds made by three, and she had helped me finish up. She had been a bit annoyed...

But Gwen wasn't the sort to tattle.

Something strange, yet instantaneously familiar slipped into my mind. It was an image of O'Brien, walking away from my old bedroom upstairs at Downton Abbey. For some reason, I was suddenly struck by this image once more. And then, I found myself recalling her smug face at various points during my downfall that day. That smirk when she told me of her Ladyship's summons... And it clicked.

It had been _O'Brien._ O'Brien, I was quite certain, had been making insinuations about me to her ladyship ever since I had arrived. I was colossally stupid not to have realized it sooner; she was the lady's maid, and of all the servants, she had the most access to Lady Grantham. _And_, I thought, as my brain was rapidly making connections quicker than it had probably ever done before, O'Brien had stolen from me.

That oh-so-familiar image of her walking away from my room, which had been stuck in my brain for some reason unbeknown to me until now, had suddenly become clear. O'Brien had taken lace underwear and pearls and goodness knows what else William had been framed for stealing from me all those months ago. I felt a fresh surge of hatred.

"Hello," said a smooth voice in the corridor behind me, making me turn around. "I'm looking for some vanilla blancmange. Do you know where I might find some?"

The very nature of this comment told me exactly who it was, and it did not improve my mood.

"Oh, what do you want?" I sighed, frustrated, to Thomas.

"I told you," he said, maddeningly superior. "I would like some vanilla blancmange. I've been told you know where I might find some—"

"Oh, shut up," I snapped. And it was now that I remembered my oath to ignore him, and the words I had spoken to him before. I was now in serious need of my own company.

"Wait," he said, putting out an arm as I endeavoured to get past him. "You know I'm not being serious, right? I don't want to upset you."

No, I thought bitterly, because you've never done that to me before.

"No," I said, instead. "You are not quite _always_ the subject for my woes, Thomas. No, I am only wondering what's the use of it all."

"Meaning?"

"This." I gestured at the corridor. "Being in service. I just wonder if I did the right thing, if—if I should have married...Banbridge. My aunt would have died happy, I wouldn't be bothering everyone here—"

"Funny you should say that. I just read that Banbridge ended the engagement."

"Wha-he did?"

Thomas nodded. "Apparently, the bride-to-be couldn't tell an Aston from a Ford. Dreadful."

"A dreadful crime indeed." I muttered.

"What's got you whining anyway?"

Not bothering to inform him that I was not _whining_, I crossed my arms again. "I was given a dreadful lecture, if you must know."

"Lecture?"

"Yes. You know, when someone goes on about how you did something wrong, and won't stop even though you said you were sorry?" I was suddenly hideously aware of how much I was sounding like Aunt Eglantine, and made a mental note to practice a different elocution from now on. "Lady—I mean, her ladyship gave me a talking to, and I am wondering what my purpose in life is."

Thomas offered a cursory smile. "What'd she say?"

"She said I mustn't laugh about Carson not finding the blancmange and—"

"She told her about _that_?"

"'She told her'? Who is 'she'?"

"No one," said Thomas, way too quickly.

"So O'Brien boasted to you about tattling on me, did she?"

"Well, aren't we sensitive. All she did was tell her ladyship that she was afraid you couldn't do the work, and wouldn't it be kinder to help you in other ways, and it wasn't right, that a lady get on her hands and knees and scrub like a common drudge. Quite kind, really."

My jaw dropped. I couldn't help it. "She's good, isn't she?"

"The best."

"I mean, I didn't think O'Brien was capable of that sort of manipulation. I thought all she did was be unpleasant."

"Oh, O'Brien has far more skills than that. I wouldn't keep company with her if she didn't."

"I'm so happy for you both," I said. "Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll be going."

"But—"

"I wouldn't want to keep you from scheming and gossiping, Thomas."

"I could always scheme and gossip with you."

"No, thank you. You'll only gossip about me with someone else later." And with a lovely and insincere smile, I pushed past him and went back to my room without a backwards glance.

Some time later, I was no closer to getting to sleep. I lay awake on my bed, still dressed, and staring up at the ceiling, and wondering where it had all gone so wrong. It had started with my aunt spending too much; that was the crux. Though, I supposed, if one really wanted to take it back, it had actually started with my parents. If they had not died, then none of this would ever have happened; never would I have gone to live with Aunt Eglantine, never would we have taken this ridiculous trip to Downton Abbey, never would I have had to watch my aunt die of Pneumonia and realise that I was now alone. Never would I have had to return here as a maid. And _never_ would I have to put up with Thomas. I knew I was being ridiculous, speculating about what could never be changed, but I could not sleep, and my brain needed some kind of stimulation.


	12. Chapter 12

I was very glad, over those next few utterly unsatisfying days, that I had a companion by my side in the shape of William, who, upon my apparent depression, endeavoured to cheer me up as best he could. Though we never spoke of my woes, his presence and reliable friendship was enough to see me through. It appeared that Lady Grantham's warning and the broken china were only the start of a series of misfortunes laid out for me. My apron was discovered ripped and torn one morning (deducted from my wages), and I had to answer a stream of shouted questions from Mr Carson regarding missing china that was in my care. I was even unlucky enough to stumble into the drawing room while Lord and Lady Grantham were entertaining guests for tea after being given wrong instructions to go there, I knew that it was O'Brien behind these petty tricks, but I was in no position to make accusations without proof.

I really couldn't do anything. As _Duties of the Good Servant_ and O'Brien made clear, there was a strict hierarchy among the servants; I couldn't complain unless O'Brien had me mauled by wild dogs.

It was a credit to myself that I didn't clink the china even though I was in such a foul temper. Gwen and I always cleaned the china after meals. It was Thomas and William's job to bring us the dishes.

Setting a heaping pile of teacups before me, the first footman bowed deeply.

I gave him a taut smile.

"_Very_ interesting conversation about you in the drawing room last night," he murmured, after a glance at Gwen confirmed that she was talking to William.

"Oh?"

"His Lordship doesn't think you're up to the job. It was all Her Ladyship's idea, you know, and His Lordship does tend to ruin her plans. From the sounds of it, he's plannin' to give you the sack."

"Oh, are you gloating?" I hissed.

He raised his eyebrows. "No. Just doin' you a favor."

I looked at him dubiously.

"I would've put in a good word for you," Thomas continued. "But you know servants can never put themselves _forward_."

"I thought you and O'Brien wanted me gone," I shot back.

Thomas shrugged. Thinking that this was the best I was going to get, I returned to washing dishes, but Thomas remained.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. You keep things interesting."

"How?" I said, turning to stare at him in wonder. I must admit, I had never thought of myself as particularly interesting.

"You've caused so many arguments since you've arrived. As a general rule, anything Carson hates, I like. Generally speaking."

"So, you want me around me around because I cause arguments. And Carson hates me."

Thomas smiled in assent.

I looked at him suspiciously. He seemed almost…hopeful? No, I was only imagining things. He was just trying to annoy me; as usual.

"I'm very flattered," I said sarcastically.

"You ought to be. There aren't many people I'm tempted to put in a good word for."

"But you don't," I snapped. "Not to Carson, not to anyone. In fact, you did just the opposite on my first day, so I really don't see the point of this discussion."

All expression disappeared from Thomas's face. "Have it your way," he said, turning away sharply. "William, come along, we don't have all day," he barked.

"I wasn't the one dawdling," William murmured, just low enough that Thomas didn't hear.

Adjusting his coat, Thomas stood by the door and waited imperiously while William scrambled out the door. Watching him leave, I felt a stab of regret. He _had_ given me some valuable information, and what had I done? I had thrown it all back in his face. Admittedly, he did rather owe me an apology for calling me a charity case in front of practically everyone, but he had helped me, with the tip about O'Brien and—oh, I had wormed that out of him. Never mind. Today, however, perhaps he had been trying to be nice, in his own way. Perhaps he was trying to make up for his previously slights.

But if I forgave him, wouldn't he just return to our former pattern of insulting me in public and being friendly in private? He was only taking me for granted, wasn't he?

"What did Thomas want?" Gwen whispered.

"I really don't know," I said, coming to myself. "Something about me getting the sack and him not wanting me to go because I cause all these arguments."

"Oh," said Gwen. "Well, I wouldn't pay much attention to him. He only cares about himself, Thomas."

I wasn't quite sure about that. Thomas cared about lots of things, like entertaining dinner conversations and annoying people. "But isn't selfishness a universal part of the human condition? I mean, we're all selfish, aren't we, so how is Thomas worse for being slightly more selfish than the rest of us?"

While Gwen was frowning over this, Anna came in to check on how much we had accomplished. "Ah, but that's the thing. Thomas isn't _slightly_ more selfish, or he wouldn't stand out. Thomas is… Well, he makes a great deal of trouble, especially for Mr Bates, who never did anything to him."

"What's he been doing?" I asked, interested. Yes, I needed to eavesdrop more often.

"He's been trying to convince Mr Carson that Mr Bates can't do the work, and is a disgrace to Downton."

"Oh. Well, that's not nice."

"Aye, Thomas isn't nice, that's what I'm sayin'," said Gwen. "I'd be wary of him if I were you. The new maids always fall all over themselves tryin' to catch his eye, until they realize he's rotten."

"I'm not _fawning_ over him," I said frostily. "Never have, and never will."

But I was going to thank him for the tip about Lord Grantham. And listen in on Carson more often. Clearly, I had been neglecting my eavesdropping duties.

x-X-x

I spent an entire hour knitting by the door of Carson's office, in which Mrs Hughes talked about dinner plans. Nevertheless, I resolved to come again. Thomas hadn't become a master eavesdropper overnight either, I was sure of it. Surely he received lots of extraneous information too? He probably only reported the interesting parts of all the chatter he heard every day. I mustn't be discouraged.

Departing before Mrs Hughes came out, I sat down in the Servants' Hall for tea. Miss O'Brien, predictably, had something to say.

"You spent an awful lot o' time knitting by the Butler's Pantry," she said, the faintest sneer playing on her lips.

I waved a dismissive hand. "It's a free country; I can knit where I want."

"Aye, and you can eavesdrop where you want, too."

"Miss O'Brien," I said, putting a hand over my heart, "are you implying that I was eavesdropping?"

"Aye, why not?" she said, her eyes widening innocently. "After handing your underthings to footmen, I hardly think you'd balk at eavesdropping."

William went bright pink, and I nearly abandoned all restraint and slammed my face into my hands. As if everyone needed reminding of _that_ particular incident. And then there was Mr Bates, whispering to Anna, no doubt asking what O'Brien meant.

Perhaps thinking that I was embarrassed, William conquered his own and placed a reassuring hand on my arm, which I found surprisingly comforting. "It's all right," he whispered. "We know what really happened, don't we?"

It wasn't that I was ashamed, necessarily, it was just that I really didn't need the underwear scandal brought up again, not now, when my position was so fragile. I was about to say something along the lines of it not mattering, there was no need, etc, when I perceived a third party observing us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Thomas, whom I had reinstated the resolution to ignore, was watching the scene through a haze of cigarette smoke.

"You weren't acquainted with the lovely Nellie Dean when she visited, were you, Mr Bates?" said Thomas, taking his cigarette out to talk.

"No, I can't say that I was," said Mr Bates quietly.

"Pity. William was accused of stealing… what was it? Pearl necklace, brooch, and some lacy underwear, wasn't it, Nellie?"

"That sounds about right, yes," I replied, gritting my teeth. Oh, black betrayal.

"Anyway, when she heard, she burst in the kitchen and said that she'd _given_ those things to William. Rather awkward, wouldn't you say?"

Utterly infuriatingly, Thomas smirked. Raising my eyebrows at him, I turned to Mr Bates, gauging his reaction. Most fortunately, he didn't seem judgmental.

"Was that what happened, Nellie?" he asked.

"Yes," I admitted, wanting to tell him the whole story, but not knowing how that would affect William.

"Scandalous," said Thomas.

And I was struck by a sudden idea that started as a small speck in my brain and grew and grew until I turned to William and said,

"Don't mind him, William." I then gave him my biggest smile, and placed my hand over his.

William, mildly surprised at my response, grinned back apprehensively and I saw the grey eyes flicker through the smoke.

I wasn't stupid. I _knew_ what I was doing and why I was doing it, but this did not stop me. I _knew_ that, by paying attention to William, I was only trying to make Thomas jealous. This was a downright dishonest and horrible thing to do, and yet it gave me a strange sensation of elation—the sort one feels when they are doing something behind their parents' back. But this was _wrong_. I should be feeling guilty! What had happened to me? I had become frankly evil. Possibly I had been spending too much time with O'Brien.

x-X-x

Sometime after lunch, Anna and I found ourselves alone together in the pantry. We were both, I think, trying to avoid Carson, who had spent the better part of half an hour scolding William for some spilt soup at lunch time, and everyone had been treading on thin ground ever since. This, at least, was the reason why _I_ was finding bags of flour and jars of jam so interesting.

"I'm worried, you know," said Anna, as she moved a box of biscuits from one side of a shelf to another.

"About what?"

"About William. He's always so down. He always seems to be in the wrong, and the likes of Thomas don't help matters."

My stomach did a strange sort of jump when she said Thomas's name, for some reason finding it bizarre that someone could just throw it into conversation in that way.

"Oh really?" I said, attempting to keep it casual, and shuffling some bags of flour about.

"Yes," continued Anna. "I mean, he's a young boy, William, and I'm not saying Mr Carson should let him off when he does wrong, but I wish people would give him a break sometimes. They seem to think he can't do anything."

"Well, we know that's not true," I said, thinking of how much I had been appreciating the young footman.

"_We_ do," said Anna. "But I'm not sure other people can see how _helpful_ William can be. And I think William himself is especially doubtful that he's any good at anything."

"Perhaps we should do something?"

"Us? What can _we_ do?" Her tone was so defeated that I decided that something must be done. I might now be a maid, but that did not mean that I was incapable of making things happen.

"Oh, come on," I said, placing a tin of peaches down importantly. "There must be _something_."

We racked our brains, the only sounds in the room our futile movement of goods and shouting and bustle from outside.

"I've got it," I said, struck suddenly by inspiration that possibly had other, ulterior, motives.

"What?"

"William feels like he's not useful, right?

"Right..."

"So, what we do is make him feel like he's useful! It's simple!"

"But how can we do that?"

"It'll be easy. We'll pretend to have difficulty with something, or else need some help, or something along those lines, and then we can ask William for help, he can help us, and there you are!"

"_Where_ are we?" said Anna, not entirely getting my idea.

"Look, if we make William feel like he's helping us, and being really useful, which he already _does,_" I added, hastily. "But if other people can see it too, then he's going to become more confident, isn't he?"

Anna's face changed from mild confusion to overjoyed realisation.

"Oh, Nellie!" she exclaimed. "That's _perfect_. And so clever! However did you think of such a thing?"

"Not just a pretty face," I said, in obvious humour.

"Not even that," said a snide voice behind us.

Whipping around, I saw O'Brien in the doorway to the pantry, her arms folded.

"Mr Carson," she said, "was just wondering what it was that two of his maids were finding so interesting in the pantry?"

"We were just..." began Anna.

"We were working," I wanted to say. "You know, it's a thing that maids are _supposed_ to do. Perhaps if you ever did your job properly, you'd know what it was like."

But as the best retorts always seemed to be inappropriate for the time and place, I had to content myself with, "We were arranging the contents of the cupboard, Miss O'Brien."

"Really," said O'Brien, with an unpleasant smile. "That's a fine way to describe idlin' away working hours with gossip."

"But all the jars are arranged alphabetically," I said. "Look!"

Not even gracing my brilliant defense with a reply, O'Brien gave me a deeply loathing look and stalked off. I glared at her retreating back, secretly (_very_ secretly) wishing I had that swagger.

"Leave it, Nellie. She's hardly worth it."

Sighing, I admitted to myself that Anna was most likely right; nothing _I_ could do or say would make O'Brien be civil. Why waste energy fuming over it?

x-X-x

Anna wanted to put our plan into action immediately, but I insisted that we had to be realistic, and that it would just look ridiculous if we were both suddenly clamouring for William's aid instantly. We needed to wait for a good opportunity, and I was also partly hoping for a moment when a certain somebody might also be present. And, to our luck, such an occasion arose that very evening.

"Nellie," said Anna, when William had just settled himself at the table, and there were several other people dotted about the room. "You couldn't mend this jacket, could you? Only it's got rather a tear in the seam, and Mr Carson's likely to go mad if he sees it. I've got a mountain to do already."

"Of course," I said, catching her slight wink and returning it. I took the jacket, torn at the shoulder. It was a repair I could virtually do in my sleep, but that would not do now.

Clumsily, I took out a needle and thread, and took up a seat conveniently next to William, who had retrieved a book with the intention of reading.

"William," I said, sweetly. "Will you just hold this needle please, while I thread this through?"

Slightly bemused, William put down his book and took the needle, holding it deadly still. However, I made a total palaver over not being able to see the hole, that in the end, William took the thread from me and threaded it through himself.

"Oh, thank you!" I gushed. "I was quite likely to be there all night without you."

Anna, across the table, stifled a smile, while I noticed Thomas, who was placed conveniently just at the other end of the table, staring completely baffled at the scene.

I began work on the jacket, making sure to huff and puff through it, sighing loudly occasionally in apparent frustration.

"Look here, William," I said, after ten minutes. "What have I done here? It's gone all wrong, look."

William, frowning at the jacket, took it from me and examined it closely. I continued to look innocently at him.

"Well," he said, after some apparent consideration. "You've stitched yourself up and through onto the other side."

"Oh, have I?" I said, laughing. "Oh, how silly of me!"

"I think you might need to take it out and start again..."

"Oh, please say I don't have to do that," I said, desperately. "I'm not sure I could stand to do such a thing."

"Well," said William, looking at my endearing face. "I could always do it for you. I might be a bloke, but I've been told I've got a very nice stitch."

"Oh, would you?" I said, gushingly. "That would be lovely, William. Thank you."

And then, taking things up a level for one man in particular, I leant forward and pecked William on the cheek.

"You're the best!"

Feeling the glow of his cheeks from where I was sat, I decided I had done enough to improve the boy's confidence at least for now, and exited the room, on the pretence of finding some chore to redeem myself on. Anna found me in the corridor.

"Oh, Nellie!" she said, a small laugh escaping her lips. "That was _perfect!_ Oh, you should hear William in there now, chattering happily about sewing with whoever will listen!"

"Well," I said, pleased that Anna did not seem to feel I had gone over the top. "This is just the beginning. We need to make sure we keep this up if it's going to really work!"

x-X-x

Over the next few days, our plan to turn William into a confident, appreciated person worked better than I could ever have hoped. During this time, myself and Anna probably appeared two of the least competent maids ever, seeking the help of William for every little thing. Mostly, Anna would make _me_ be the one with difficulties, as she didn't want to completely lose her head housemaid status. This, unfortunately, caused a backlash on me from Carson, though. And I also had to put up with taunts from O'Brien regarding my lack of aptitude. But, in my opinion, it was worth it, and this was confirmed further one morning when Thomas sought out my presence in the courtyard.

I had been out there, on the pretence of doing something useful, when in reality, I was just hiding from an angry Mrs Hughes, who had lost some keys and was consequently very highly strung. I was just debating how long would be a reasonable time to stay out there when the door opened. Not wanting to be discovered doing nothing at all, I darted behind a pile of crates that conveniently concealed me from view. However, when the door opened, I realised it was only Thomas and O'Brien, cigarettes at the ready. I was about to reveal myself from behind the crates, when something indescribable kept me rooted to the spot.

"Well," said Thomas. "That was fun."

"No mercy for the poor lad," said O'Brien.

Thomas drew on his cigarette. "Fools are born to be taken in; if it's not me doing it, it's someone else."

"Why do you want the boy sacked, anyway?"

"You know why; I'm not telling you again."

"You surely don't think he's gonna leave over a few misplaced keys, do you? They all like William; they'll only believe it's some accident."

I could not _believe_ what I was hearing. Well, actually, I could, but it did not make it any easier to digest. The very idea that Thomas had framed William for Mrs Hughes's missing keys was so typical, so _characteristic_ of him, that I could hardly believe I had not thought of it sooner.

I waited just long enough to hear the two disappear back inside, before springing from my hiding place, literally shaking with fury. The only thing that seemed straight in my head was that I had to get to William, had to help him as he had helped me. Curse Thomas! He was undoing all of mine and Anna's handiwork!

I rushed back into the house, down along to a room I knew about, but never actually entered—Mrs Hughes's room. Forgetting myself completely, I burst in without knocking and my eyes fell upon Mrs Hughes, who was sitting at her desk. Upon my intrusion, she practically jumped up out of her seat, looking shocked.

"_Nellie!_" she exclaimed. "What on _earth_ do you mean by bursting through doors in this way?"

"I'm sorry," I gasped. "But there is something most pressing I must tell you."

"Well, then," said Mrs Hughes. "Tell away, girl. For I expect you have good reason for entering my room without knocking in such a way."

I nodded, and then realised that I did not, as Mrs Hughes had put it, have any good reasons. For if I _did_ possess any, I would surely have thought about what the devil I was going to say before entering in upon Mrs Hughes like this. What could I say? I was not about to tell tales about O'Brien, or, more importantly (though I wondered after why I considered this more important), Thomas. But, yet again, I did not want to be given the sack either. However, I realised that something must be said to help William, and that something must be said immediately, for Mrs Hughes was already fixing me with an oppressive, disbelieving stare.

"I—it was me," I said. "I'm the one that had your keys. I didn't steal them," I said, hurriedly, my brain and tongue alive with lies, "but I found them in the kitchen, and decided that it would probably be best if they were to be returned to you. I...I had been trying to find you to give them back to you, I promise."

Mrs Hughes's face said it all; she did not believe me in the slightest. "And yet you did not feel the need to speak up when I have been mentioning the missing keys all afternoon?"

"Oh, you'd been mentioning them?" I said loftily. "I hadn't noticed, honestly."

Mrs Hughes sighed. "You really are impossible, Nellie Dean."

"The impossible is often the untried," I said, without thinking.

My philosophical quotes did not seem to have quite the desired effect upon Mrs Hughes, and she raised her eyebrows incredibly high at me.

"Indeed," she said. "Well then perhaps the 'untried' could tell me her explanation for how the keys ended up in William's pocket? Hmm?"

Ah. I had forgotten that minor detail.

"We-ell," I said, slowly, mind running in overtime. "I put them in there," I said, a wave of possible insane inspiration coming over me. "That's it. There was sudden an emergency in the pantry, and I had to attend it at once. I didn't want to lose or damage the keys, so I put them somewhere for safekeeping until I was finished. That place just happened to be the pocket of a jacket I found. I realise now that it was William's jacket."

"Oh, really?"

"Oh, yes."

"And what was this 'sudden emergency' in the pantry?"

"A carton of spilt lentils," I said without hesitation.

"An emergency indeed," said Mrs Hughes cynically. I looked down at the floor. "Nevertheless—" continued Mrs Hughes, and I looked up—"If what you're saying _is_ true, then it is not fair that William should bear the burden of your errors. I must go to Mr Carson at once and discuss this. Meanwhile, _you_," and at this point she fixed me with her most severe look, "must accept the consequences of your actions. Now, go and try and stay out of further trouble while I discuss things with Mr Carson."

"Yes, Mrs Hughes," I said meekly.

x-X-x

The incident with the keys earned me my longest and strictest punishment to date. Mrs Hughes's 'discussion' with Carson about the whole affair seemed to convince her further that I had committed a terrible crime, and O'Brien delighted in implying that she had overheard her discussing my dismissal with Lord Grantham.

This, of course, was untrue, but it _was_ true that I was not about to get away from this lightly. Though William had practically sobbed while thanking me again and again for what I had done, I had to insist that I had merely been speaking the truth. It occurred to me at that point how complicated my life had become. My whole existence seemed to have become a web of lies that was growing horribly sticky and complicated. I kept forgetting who I had told what to, and what I was supposed to believe had happened.

I accepted, however, my punishment with grace, even though it meant public scolding and a demotion. 'Indefinitely', I was to eat meals alone, and was not allowed to join in evening entertainment with everybody else.

"I accept that it was a mistake," said Carson, his deep voice sounding strangely distant in the small enclosure of his office. "But I cannot let standards drop. The housekeeper's keys are very important; it's where the china's kept. These sorts of…mishaps create confusion, cast suspicion. You understand, I'm sure. And I must not shown to be lenient with you. It's bad business, very bad business."

This was, possibly, better than I had expected. Angry though Carson seemed, he had not sacked me yet.

It was lonely, however. No one wanted to associate with me anymore. They were all acting as though I might contaminate them and bring down the wrath of Carson on their heads too. Or else that I was cursed and everything I touched turned sour. Some scullery maid even spoke to me so timidly one morning that I felt like I was a bomb that might explode at any moment. William still attempted to keep up our friendship whenever possible, but even he, after his initial gratitude, drifted somewhat. Anna, also, evidently felt that she was in some danger by associating herself with me, and I found myself having to put up with my own company most of the time. O'Brien seemed to enjoy seeing my solitude, and made no effort whatsoever to even acknowledge my existence. At least I had that advantage.

So, I was lonely and miserable indeed when I decided to seek some fresh air in the courtyard, though it had grown dark and late. It was not especially cold, Spring having officially arrived, and I thought the air might soothe me somewhat.

Outside, I settled myself down upon the permanent pile of crates and closed my eyes, allowing the breeze to play across my face pleasantly. The air smelt faintly of chimney smoke, cold, and burning wood. And then, another familiar scent filled my nostrils, so instantly memorable that I snapped my eyes open immediately. Thomas stood, smug as ever, looking jubilantly down at me.

"Hello," he said.

"What do you want?" I sighed exasperatedly, making preparations to stand up. "You shouldn't be talking to me. I'm in disgrace, remember?"

"You're forgetting," said Thomas, placing his hands in his pockets and running his foot along the ground in front of me, "I spend more than half my life in disgrace with everyone here. It makes a change that I'm not."

"Well, you should be," I said, angrily remembering that it was really his fault all this had happened anyway.

"Oh, really? Why's that?"

"You're the one who actually took the keys and put them in William's pocket," I said.

Thomas, whom I expected to deny this completely, or else at least become meek at the mention of his crime, smirked. "That's true," he said.

"You don't deny it, then?"

"No? Why should I? I'm not the one who was stupid enough to lie to protect somebody."

"No," I said, standing up, annoyed. "That doesn't really seem like something _you_ would do. Helping others."

"You flatter me," he said drily.

"Look," I said. "Could you leave me in peace? Please? I'm already melancholy. You can hardly make me feel any worse."

"Oh, I probably could."

This was most likely true, but I did not say that. I sighed again.

"Are you going to leave any time soon?"

"Don't plan on it, no."

I sighed once more, feeling as though I would soon surely deflate from having exhaled so much air in frustration.

"Why is it so insanely difficult to be rid of you and ignore you?" I asked, wondering why on earth I was still standing there.

Thomas, for some reason, seemed to find a compliment in this question. "Oh, I don't know." Smirking, he brought a cigarette to his lips and lit it. "Possibly 'cause you wouldn't have lasted two days here without me."

It was my turn to smirk at him. "You know, somehow I _really_ doubt that," I said.

"You shouldn't." Smoke flowed from the cigarette, clouding his face. "Why d'you think Carson's put up with you this long, if I hadn't put in a good word for you now and then?"

I looked at him, trying very hard not to gape. "Explain."

"Told him you were a good lass, dedicated to the family name an' all that rot. Ate it right it up, he did. You see," he continued thoughtfully, plucking out his cigarette so he could talk freely, "I told him you'd be an eventual asset to Downton, as you'd always be grateful to Lady Grantham for takin' you in. Finely done, if I don't say so, myself." His speech finished, he put the cigarette back in.

I must say, it took me a while to collect my wits. "That still doesn't excuse you for framing William," I snapped, rather half-heartedly.

But Thomas was smiling anyway.


	13. Chapter 13

I would be lying if I maintained that Thomas's new information didn't throw me off, as it was the last thing I had expected him to do. Goodness, I still wasn't sure he was telling the truth.

"And I'm sure Carson would have kept me on anyway," I said.

"Would he, now?" said Thomas. "He was very near sackin' you when you told Gwen you didn't see the point in perfectly smooth sheets, 'cause your servants had never bothered with it."

"I still think I was in the right," I muttered.

"You always do," he muttered.

"Hello, there," a voice called, making me very nearly jump. It was Anna, standing in the doorway, but gone was her usual cautious gentleness. Indeed, she looked almost as if she was struggling between disapproval and amusement. Quickly arranging my face into composure, I greeted her with an understated, perfectly calm smile.

"Hello, Anna," I replied.

"What are you doing out here, Nellie?" she asked.

"Oh," I said, "I was just…"

"Askin' where you were, actually. And now, here you are," said Thomas, flicking away his cigarette. I took this as my cue to leave, but before I could, Thomas pushed past us both first, and strutted back inside as though nothing had happened at all. Well, I thought. I could hardly leave now; following him would look most bizarre.

Stamping on his cigarette so it wouldn't burn the house down, I faced Anna. She was regarding me with a knowing, pensive look, and I had to force myself to gaze at her steadily.

"Well, Nellie?" said Anna expectantly. "Thomas said you were looking for something…?"

"Oh! Yes, I…" _Think of a lie, think of a lie_. "I was wondering if Mrs Hughes needed anything done, that's all." Well, that was ridiculous. Why couldn't I have gone directly to Mrs Hughes? My mind quickly supplied the answer; I was getting good at this. "I was afraid to ask her," I added apologetically, "seeing as I've not been in her favour these last weeks."

"No, I don't think so. I wonder, Nellie—" she fixed me with a penetrating stare that I did my best not to shrink under—"was that all you wanted from Thomas?"

Lifting a disbelieving eyebrow, I made my way to the door. "What else would I want?"

"Oh, I'm sure I couldn't say," said Anna. "Only you seemed a bit flustered when I walked out." Gesturing at the door, she waited for me to go first.

"That," I said, scowling, "was because Thomas Barrow chose to impose his company upon me and tell me outrageous lies."

"Such as?"

"Anna, do you know if...if Thomas told Carson to keep me on?" I whispered, holding the door for her.

She sent me a sharp stare. "Do you know, I think he might have. I overheard Carson telling Mrs Hughes he was very surprised Thomas had put in a good word for you, just after you came here. Is that what he told you?"

"Yes, he did," I said slowly, but being sure to add, "only to get out of a prior accusation, though. You see," I said, scowling blackly, "he was trying to frame William for stealing the keys, so I told Mrs Hughes that I had put them in his pocket, by accident, and then Thomas came to tell me off for lying for William, and brag about what a good schemer he was—no, actually, I don't know _why_ he came to torment me—possibly out of spite," I concluded. "Obviously. Then I asked him why it was so hard to get rid of him, and he said that it was probably because I wouldn't have lasted a day without him, and then I said—"

Anna's horrified, enthralled face stopped my monologue mid-sentence. "That's quite an…eventful relationship, Nellie."

"What?" I looked at her blankly.

Anna closed her mouth, business-like once more. "Never mind. Let's see if Mrs Hughes wants anything done."

x-X-x

Over the next three days, I didn't know what to think. Thomas was acting so aloof I wondered if he regretted telling me about his manipulation of Carson, or, worse yet, regretted the manipulation itself. Unfortunately, even all the sarcasm Thomas could muster didn't dissuade Anna, who cast worried looks in my direction, which was quite ridiculous of her, because there was no evidence that I was in love with Thomas, and if I was, what did it matter? There were worse men to fall in love with, like Wickham. Or Willoughby. Or, God forbid, _Heathcliff_.

And in any case, I reflected as I padded down a corridor with several spare bedrooms, what business was it of hers if I _did_ choose Thomas?

Not entirely content with the world, I carried on walking, intent on delivering sheets to Mrs Hughes's bed. No sooner had I reached the upstairs corridor, than I heard a murmur of other voices. It was strange, but listening in to snatches of others' conversations seemed to have become a bit of a bad habit for me. I had always been curious, but overhearing other people had become almost a daily occurrence. I congratulated myself; my eavesdropping training was coming along nicely. The voices were coming from another bedroom, the door of which was slightly ajar. Stopping, I moved behind a vase, where they couldn't see me.

"Mr Bates is a sly one, isn't he? It's always the quiet, virtuous ones who live like hell."

Why, hello there, Thomas. Complaining about Bates yet again? And what was this about Mr Bates being a profligate? A _little_ outlandish, wouldn't you say?

"I didn't expect to get a letter back so soon," said O'Brien, almost modest in her tone. "Or for it to yield so much."

"So, he was a drunkard, was he?"

"Aye, the worst sort, the sort that get violent."

"And _I_ only get a little snappish," said Thomas. "Well. We know where and what he's been; the question is now how we use it."

"Well, we know he's a drunkard. I've known men like that; once they start, it takes a great deal to stop. I suppose Mr Bates may be reformed now, but a man I knew always stole all the wine in sight. It don't take much to turn 'em to drink again."

"So we put a bit o' wine in his room and hope he drinks it?" said Thomas disbelievingly. "Waste o' good wine, if you ask me."

"No! We steal a bottle or two and make it look as if Mr Bates took it. With his past history, he won't stand a chance."

"Might work," Thomas admitted. "I've even got a bit o' spare wine hidden in my room; we can use that."

"You've taken to filchin' again?"

"Figured I might as well; no use behavin' now that Lord Grantham won't give me the position."

Another pause ensued, during which I felt like slamming my head into the wall repeatedly. Certainly, I hoped that the position of valet was a high-paying one, because Thomas was making a lot of unnecessary trouble for it. And what did he have against Mr Bates, anyhow? Mr Bates was one of the nicest people I had ever met, and who knew if O'Brien's correspondent was telling the truth? And if even if he had been a rather bad man, he was reformed now.

"I'm finished until dinner," said O'Brien. "Have a smoke with me?"

"In a bit; you go on."

Footsteps sounded on the other side; she was leaving.

Crouching behind the vase and making myself as small as possible, I waited with held breath as O'Brien came out of the door. I don't think she noticed me, as she strode down the hall without a backwards glance.

Breathing slowly, relieved that I had not had to face an inquisition, I made my way to the designated bedroom, but not before taking a long, hard look at the closed oak door, and thinking far too deeply about the person concealed behind it.

x-X-x

The next day, excitement was in the air. It was announced in the morning that Matthew Crawley and company would be dining with Lord and Lady Grantham that evening, and that a large supper would need to be laid out. Mrs Hughes sent the maids on a rampage through the house armed with mops and brushes, in order to make sure that everything was spick and span. She even requested my presence, something that had been avoided as often as possible since my various 'wrong-doings', as she called them. But today it was all hands on deck, for Mrs Hughes actually sent me on a number of errands. And, though none of them were especially important, I felt a bizarre pleasure at being useful once more.

Mr Carson and Mrs Patmore, the cook, seemed to have made a pact together to be in a state of high stress for the entire day. Mrs Patmore, usually covered in considerable amounts of flour, bustled about complaining about menus and dishes. Carson hurried, red faced, shouting at people for no apparent reason and generally acting like a bomb about to go off at the slightest thing. A poor scullery maid was reduced to tears over an upset pudding bowl, and Thomas received a whip around the back with a tea towel when he was blocking the walkways in the kitchen.

Thomas continued his policy of ignoring me; in fact, he barely looked at me, all day, even when I accidentally bumped into him as he was carrying a tray to the dining room (said action ordinarily would have gained a sharp scolding). I just could _not_ work the man out. But, having said that, I found it hard to think ill of him when I thought about the previous night out in the courtyard. However, there was also the conversation I had overheard with O'Brien to consider. I couldn't act; I didn't know when they were going to sneak the wine in, and I couldn't talk Thomas out of it, seeing that I couldn't remember a single instance when he had listened to me. So I toiled on, helpless to prevent anything.

A few hours before the Crawleys were due to start the dinner, disaster struck in the kitchen. While carrying through some wine, Mr Carson collapsed, gasping with a pain in his chest. Mr Bates, who was closest, helped him into a chair, while Mrs Hughes hurriedly telephoned for the doctor, and everybody else stood around uselessly. Dr Clarkson arrived promptly, and pronounced that Carson was just overworked and would be fine. Much to loud protests from the now irritable Carson, Dr Clarkson insisted upon immediate bed rest and relaxation.

Once Mrs Hughes had settled Carson upstairs, a general feeling of commotion reigned downstairs; nobody knew what to do, or when to do it, and people fussed hither and thither but with no real success. Eventually, Mrs Hughes through to Crawley House and requested the immediate presence of Mr Molesley, Matthew's valet and general butler, for immediate assistance. Mr Molesley arrived, and made some attempt to regain order, while Mrs Hughes organised the maids. She snapped at me to remain out of the way, so I hurried off out of the kitchen to try and stay as useful as possible, passing Mr Molesley in Carson's office on the way, looking frantically at bottles of wine.

"You, there!" he exclaimed. "Please, do come here immediately."

Perplexed, I hurried over to him.

"Oh," he said, despairingly. "Whatever will I do with all these wines? I've no idea which to serve and when! Do help me, please!"

I stared at the bottles in front of me. "Oh, _I_ don't know!" I said. "I don't know a thing about wine. You shouldn't have asked _me_."

At this point, Mr Molesley took me in properly, and did a double take.

"Eleanor Dean?" he said. "Nellie Dean?"

"Yes," I said, slightly stiffly and wondering if he was going to say any more.

Mr Molesley, though slightly abashed, said no more on the matter, and returned, once more, to the dilemma of the wine.

"Look," I said. "Why don't we just try a few? Test a few out, and serve the ones which taste the best?"

Mr Molesley seemed doubtful at first. _He_ couldn't take much wine, etc, etc. But when I suggested that I would test the wines myself, he reluctantly agreed, seeing no other option.

It was difficult. To me, an immature wine drinker, all of the wines tasted the same. I ended up slurping down many a glass before I chose some to send up with Molesley. I was feeling rather peculiar, a feeling that increased as Molesley came down after the starter and main, respectively, requesting that I test a few more for him. By the time it was the end of the dessert wines, I could barely tell a red from a white, and sent him away with the first bottle put to me. I was oddly reminded of the night when I had taken too much wine and the Duke of Banbridge had proposed. For some reason, I found this amusing. And amusing turned to hilarious, and soon I was laughing loudly to myself inside Carson's office, and draining a further few glasses from the wine bottle that I had told Molesley would not be acceptable for the cheese course.

A little while later, I decided that the dinner must be over and, unsteadily, made my way out of the office and into the corridor, which seemed horribly bright and artificial. I could never remember a time when I had felt so affected by wine. Not even the night of the Duke's proposal had been anything like this. I could hardly put one foot in front of another, and began to feel really most bizarre. I tried to make my way down the hall, but found that this was practically impossible. Somebody brushed past me.

"Ow!" I said, loudly. Much too loudly. Why had I even cried out? "You _hurt_ me," I said, and regardless of what I had just thought, my volume was perhaps increased.

"Nellie?" somebody was saying my name, in a voice I definitely recognised. I tried insanely hard to focus on the figure in front of me, but I could feel the wine trickling around inside me, permeating my brain and stopping me from functioning properly. But then I recognised who it was.

"Hello, Thomas!" I said, my voice echoing down the corridor. I realised now that two hands, Thomas's I presumed, were gripping my shoulders tightly, and he was peering into my face. I tried to focus on his eyes, but even they were distorted.

"You look ridiculous," I stated.

"What the devil has gotten into you?" Thomas asked.

"I think," I slurred thickly, "that the better question is, what has gotten into _you_?"

Thomas's face was so confused that I began to laugh again. Louder and louder.

"Shut it!" he said, shaking me slightly. "I don't understand what...wait," he said, leaning in closer to my face, inhaling. "You been drinking wine?"

"No," I said, stupidly.

"Yes, you have," said Thomas simply, straightening up.

"Mr Molesley," I said. "He asked me to taste some of the wine for the dinner."

"Oh, dear God," said Thomas, placing a hand to his head, as though in thought. "Right," he said, as though coming to a conclusion. "Come with me. We can't have Mrs Hughes seeing you like this. I'll kill Molesley..."

"I don't think so," I said, as I allowed myself to be led, or rather _dragged_ by Thomas down a back passage. "I don't think you will kill Molesley, will you? After all, it's a bit ridiculous, isn't it, I mean there's no legal way to kill people, is there? And I'm quite sure you would not do anything illegal, because you always look so respectable. But then, you might disappear behind a cloud of cigarette smoke with O'Brien and then transform into being utterly evil, and then I believe you'd be capable of doing _anything_. Though, of course, if it is a question of capability—"

"Look," cut in Thomas, breaking my infernal blabbering ramble. "Remind me never to give you even a _drop_ of wine. I don't think I can take the talking."

"What?"

"Never mind. Look, get in there and be quiet."

I found myself awkwardly, and with some protests by me, pushed into a room I recognised as a bedroom.

"But we didn't come up any stairs?" I said.

Thomas sighed. "Yes, we did, you idiot."

"Hey!" I cried. "You can't call me an idiot! That's really horrible! I've half a mind to—"

"Shh," said Thomas. "I didn't mean it. Now please, just be quiet. Sit down."

I settled down on the edge of a bed and, annoyed, I looked around to try and take in some of the surroundings. It was a dark, cool room, pleasant to be in after the glare of the hall. The walls were tilted slightly sideways, though this was most likely the effect of the wine. As far as I could make out, which was embarrassingly little, the room was not dissimilar to my own, except pleasanter somehow, though I couldn't describe exactly why.

"Where are we?" I asked. Thomas was walking up and down the room, though I wished he wouldn't; it was making me infernally dizzy. Or maybe that was just the wine.

He cleared his throat. "My bedroom," he said, somewhat awkwardly.

"Oh, this is _your_ room?" I said. "How fascinating."

Thomas looked at me quizzically. "You know," he said. "When you've taken to wine, you don't make a whole lot of sense."

"Well, _you_ know," I retorted. "You _never_ make a whole lot of sense."

Thomas seemed to find this amusing, but the room suddenly made me remember something.

"I wish you'd tell me what's wrong," I said, in a voice that sounded strangely different than my own.

"What?" said Thomas.

"Nothing."

"No, you said 'I wish you'd tell me what's wrong'."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you _did_," said Thomas, and I could hear the frustration in his voice. But everything was closing in on me, growing horribly hot and stuffy where it had once been pleasantly cool. Black spots were appearing in front of my eyes. Thomas had stopped pacing the room, and was crouched down by the bed beside me.

"Why did you ask me what was wrong?"

"I...Oh, look here. _I'll_ tell you what's wrong, I think I am about to be dreadfully sick!"

x-X-x

After moaning and groaning for a while, it became apparent that I was not, in fact, going to be sick. I did, however, come to the conclusion that I had really spent enough time in Thomas's room, and it was time to return to my own quarters.

"I thank you," I said. "But I really, really must be going now, goodbye!" Groping for the door handle, I rattled it about, muttering to myself, "_Why_ won't this thing _open?_"

"Well," said Thomas. "It might have something to do with the fact that you're trying to pull the handle of my wardrobe off, for one."

"Oh," I said, letting go at once.

"Look, why don't you just sit down? You shouldn't be up in your state."

"I'm fine!" I said, or rather, shouted. I was having extreme difficulty in controlling my volume. Or controlling anything really.

"I wish you'd shut up," said Thomas. "You're quite possibly the most irritating drunk I've ever come across. And _I've_ seen O'Brien after a few too many sherries."

"Oh?" I said, loudly and indignantly. "Is that so? Well, _you,_ my friend, are the most irritating _person_ I have ever come across."

"Oh, we're friends now?"

"Shut up. Let me go to my own room."

"I'm not letting you out of my _sight_. Can you imagine what Carson or Mrs Hughes would do if they found you in this state? You'd be lucky if you weren't thrown out. You're in enough trouble already."

While he was talking, I had managed to locate the actual door handle, and was about to open it when a loud knock from the other side made me jump backwards, shrieking. Thomas leapt up from his bed, hissing a "Shhh," at me as he did so. Pushing me out of sight from the doorway, he pulled open the door.

"Evening, Mrs Hughes," said Thomas smoothly.

"Ah, yes," said Mrs Hughes. "Thomas. I'd just like to...to _thank_ you. For your cooperation this evening. What with Mr Carson out and all. You were most...most _efficient._"

"Why, thank you, Mrs Hughes," said Thomas. "It's nice to be appreciated."

"Yes, well," said Mrs Hughes, somewhat awkwardly. "Don't think that this means I'm going to let you go about and do as you please from now on! And now I know that you _can_ at least cooperate. Now, good night."

Nodding in the most stately manner, Thomas closed the door. I could tell by his face that he was, though he would never admit it, actually quite pleased to be thanked by Mrs Hughes.

"See," he said, coming over. "You _can_ be quiet."

"And _you_ can be cooperative. Apparently."

He shrugged. "When I choose to be, I can be a lot of things."

"That's very mysterious," was my reply.

"I _am_ mysterious."

"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science," I said, instinctively thinking of something philosophical to say.

Thomas raised his eyebrows playfully. "I might have misunderstood that statement entirely, but did you just call me beautiful?"

"_No._"


	14. Chapter 14

At around three in the morning (or so I guessed later; I wasn't quite capable of telling time at the moment), Thomas decided that I had stayed in his room long enough. Fortunately, I wasn't as loud by that time, and was able to be shuffled along the corridor with tolerable ease. Thomas, I remembered later, was as soft-footed as a cat, while I was…less so. Nevertheless, by a sheer miracle, we didn't wake anyone.

Taking out a few hairpins (at which I giggled idiotically, only to be kicked in the shin), Thomas picked the lock of the maids' corridor. When it opened after a surprisingly short time, Thomas bowed me in, only to catch me as I stumbled. Escorting me down the hallway, he showed me into my room, tucked me in, and left. I fell asleep nearly immediately.

x-X-x

The first thing I was aware of was a metaphorical axe pounding away at my skull. The second thing was the noise of many footsteps, which did not at all allay the pain of the first. Several things flooded back to me—hairpins, sarcasm, something wrong, and strangely enough, pirate novels. And I seemed to remember Mr Bates and wine, though Thomas and I hadn't discussed it to my knowledge.

I found it highly unlikely, however, that Mrs Hughes would make allowances for my hangover. Therefore, I rose quickly and did _not_ succumb to the temptation to gaze, bleary-eyed, at the wall.

I was carrying on with my morning routine, brushing my hair, etc., when the full realization of what Thomas had done came crashing down on me. 'Fraternization' between male and female servants was harshly punished, and we would have been sacked for sure if we had gotten caught. I was equally certain, however, that Carson would have taken indecent joy in throwing me out if I had been found drunk. Why had Thomas helped me? And _why_ had he stowed me away in his room of all places? Surely a cupboard would have done just as well? My head hurt too much to think.

As I threw on my uniform, my head continued to pound. If I had had any sense at all, I would have stayed locked in my bedroom and avoided the day completely. Everything I needed seemed to be missing or crumpled, and I stumbled down to the Servants' Hall, late and looking like laundry.

William sat at the table, mostly concealed behind a newspaper that he was reading. Mrs Hughes, Thomas, Mr Bates, Anna, and O'Brien were there too, Thomas in particular looking haggard, which made me feel guilty indeed.

"What happened to you?" O'Brien demanded when I took my seat and wondered why everybody was talking quite _so_ loudly.

"I didn't get any sleep," I said thickly.

"Of course not, with all the excitement last night," said Mrs Hughes. "Fortunately, we have a fairly light day's work."

I offered her a wan smile. When I glanced up, I perceived O'Brien glancing from me to Thomas.

"Rough night?" said Mr Bates.

"Oh, just a random attack of insomnia—" I began, but then I realized he was talking to Thomas.

The footman gave him a flat stare. "You could say that. What with Mr Carson ill, I had to lock the place up. Got to bed at twelve."

O'Brien sent him a sharp, fleeting look, which I understood: Thomas usually only went to bed after very strong hints from Carson.

"I see," said Mr Bates, and let it rest.

William, meanwhile, had remained absorbed in his newspaper during the preceding conversation. "Hey, look at this! The Downton village fair is returning soon! I forgot it always comes on 31st October."

"Oh, that has really brightened up my morning, that has," said O'Brien cynically.

"Well," said William, unfazed. "It's always been a laugh, hasn't it?"

"If you've ever got to go, that is," O'Brien continued, looking sour.

"Come now, Miss O'Brien," said Mrs Hughes briskly. "It's not William's fault you've always found yourself engaged on the evening of the fair. I'm sure you could take a break this year and go."

"As if I'd want to go anyway!" she said. I allowed their arguing to flow over my painful head, willing the day to just hurry up and finish. But then I caught the sound of my name, which brought me back around.

"Nellie will be up for it, won't you?" said William, looking at me.

"What?" I said blearily. "Yes. Yes, of course I'm up for it." Not entirely sure what it was I was up for, I decided it was better just to agree; there was less talking involved that way.

"Well!" said O'Brien, standing up abruptly. "If _Nellie Dean_ is up for it, then I guess that's that, then! No bother of what anyone else thinks!"

And, with that, she pushed back her chair, and stormed out of the room. My brain, working slower than usual, took a while to comprehend what had happened.

"I'm sorry, Nellie," said Mrs Hughes kindly. "She doesn't mean anything by her words."

"What?" I said vaguely.

"I'm sure that Miss O'Brien does not mean anything by what she had said. Please don't let it upset you," Mrs Hughes repeated, obviously mistaking my vagueness for shock or distress.

"No," I said. "No, of course not."

"So, are you up for the fair?" persisted William, leaning over the table.

"Yes," I said. "Yes, of course. I've never been to a village fair before."

"It's not much," put in Thomas.

"Well, _I_ like it!" said William, defensively.

"Exactly."

"Oh! We'll have none of your cheek, Thomas!" said Mrs Hughes curtly.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs Hughes," was Thomas's sarcastic reply.

"William," said Mrs Hughes. "As Thomas seems to think it is above him, _you_ can take Nellie down to the fair. I'll grant you the time off, and you can show her Downton at its best."

"I'd love to," said William, his face lighting up.

"And now," continued Mrs Hughes, brisk as ever, "Nellie, I'd appreciate it if you could take some of these sheets to the bedrooms upstairs."

"U—upstairs?" I said. Up to this point, I had still not been allowed to perform any tasks whereupon I might be visible to Lord or Lady Grantham.

"Yes," said Mrs Hughes, smiling. "_Up_stairs. And quickly, there is much for you to be doing if you want to be let off this evening!"

When my tasks were completed (and they were completed well, I told myself), I went in search of Thomas, hoping to thank him for keeping me out of trouble last night. Before I could find him, however, he found me, dragging me away from Gwen on the pretext that Mrs Hughes had found a fault with one of the sheets. With dread in my heart, I followed him and moved to go up the staircase, only to be stopped by, "Where the hell are you going?"

"To Mrs Hughes," I returned, thinking it obvious.

"That was a lie to fool Gwen," said Thomas, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "No, I only wanted to tell you that if you ever feel the urge to get drunk, come to me, and I'll set you up with the best claret in the house. You really shouldn't do idiotic things without consultin' me first."

Rolling his eyes, he turned and went up the staircase, leaving me in profound shock. And I hadn't even thanked him…

x-X-x

Those next few days were, surprisingly, pleasant and disaster-free. Since my beyond-embarrassing behaviour with the wine, I had managed to remain out of trouble and redeem myself with Mrs Hughes and Carson and everybody else. Even O'Brien seemed to find little to ruin. I found myself useful, relied upon and completing tasks to what appeared to be an acceptable standard. I was able to be friends with William, and even Thomas, despite my embarrassing drunken antics, was agreeable and pleasant to be around. There was no awkwardness or nastiness, and everything seemed rosy in the garden of Nellie Dean.

Of course, I knew it was all too good to last.

On the afternoon of the day of the fair, I sat in the kitchen feeling thoroughly good about myself. Mrs Hughes had given me a number of important tasks to complete throughout the morning, all of which I had succeeded at, and I could not help but feel a little smug.

"What have you got to look so pleased about?" asked Thomas, coming in flanked by O'Brien and looking grumpy. Maybe his scheme to frame Mr Bates had failed, I thought hopefully.

Ignoring the latter, I answered, "I just so happen to have completed all my work successfully today. _I_ am in Mrs Hughes's good books, and—"

"_Nellie Dean!"_ A crisp, curt call echoed through the kitchen and cut me short. It was Mrs Hughes; flouncing in to the room and looking livid.

"_Nellie,_" she said. "One of your sheets is ripped."

"I—what?" I said, startled.

"One of the sheets that you received this morning," said Mrs Hughes, speaking very slow and dangerously, as though I were being purposely impertinent, "was discovered by _Lady Edith_ of all people with a ripped seam. They were in _perfect_ condition when Lucy gave them to you."

"But I—"

"I honestly thought you'd improved," Mrs Hughes continued, looking stern. "I thought you'd really started to be useful, but I guess I thought too soon!"

"But Mrs Hughes, I didn't—"

"_No_," she said, cutting in on my protests. "I do not wish to hear another word. I regret that this has happened, but nonetheless we must move on. You will keep out of the way, please, and not even consider asking for the time off this evening. If you do not buck up, then...then I am afraid I will have to speak to his Lordship."

And, with that devastatingly depressing speech, she turned and quitted the room, leaving me completely stunned, staring open mouthed at the place where she had just stood.

Thomas, obviously trying extremely hard not to smile said, "Yes, I can see why you were under the impression that you were in Mrs Hughes's good books. She _really_ seems to like you, you know?"

"Oh, shut up," I said, irritably. I frowned at the table. _How_ had the sheet become torn? It had been perfectly fine when I placed them on the beds.

"I don't understand..." I said, voicing my concerns aloud.

A slight noise made me turn around, and I caught sight of the other occupant of the room, O'Brien, who was wearing an expression of infinite smugness.

"Oh, well," said Thomas, lighting up a cigarette with nonchalance. "At least now you don't have to go to the fair with William."

"Excuse _me_," I said, coolly, feeling thoroughly annoyed with just about everybody. "I actually _wanted_ to go to the fair with William."

"Oh."

"Well, I suppose we're all stuck here together, then," I said bitterly. "What a party that will be."

"Particularly if we have claret," said Thomas snidely, low enough that O'Brien couldn't hear.

Shooting a glare at him, I strode out of the room, my head held high.

I was annoyed and frankly miserable. My high spirits had fallen so low, I was quite sure that they would never rise again. All that had seemed to make me feel happy over the last few days was now gone in an instant, and I felt about as flat as one of Mrs Patmore's pancakes. I climbed the stairs to my bedroom in the most melancholy way I could, walking very slowly and dragging my feet on each stair. I was depressed and sick and tired of pretending that I did not care about anything, and wanted to show it. It had been a long time since I had felt as content as I had those previous days, and now that it was over I was determined to be well and truly glum about it all. Perhaps the worst bit was telling William, whom I met in the corridor by the staircase. He was so nice about it, which just made me feel worse. Why couldn't he get angry with me or something? It was what I deserved. It was absurd, but I felt almost frustrated with him for being too nice.

I met Anna in the upstairs corridor, and explained woefully of my troubles. She was sympathetic enough, but I could tell that, deep down, even her patience was growing thin.

I mean, who could blame her? To everybody else, I was an incompetent trouble maker who 'thought I was above everyone else'. I was completely living up to the expectations that young rich girls didn't know how to act the maid, which irritated me to no end. Reaching my bedroom door, and full of self-pity, I threw open the door, went in and flung myself straight onto the bed, burying my head in the pillow.

I had been planning on laying there a while, wallowing in despair, perhaps even crying a little, but I guess I must have fallen asleep before I got around to doing this. How long I slept for, I do not know, but it must have been a considerable time, for when I awoke the sun had gone down, and my room was swamped in darkness. I lay still for a few moments, wondering what it was that had awoken me. And then, there was a knock at my door. Assuming it was Anna, or some other maid, come to tell me to come down, I mumbled something largely incoherent into the pillow. The visitor, however, took it for permission to come in, and opened the door.

"Hey..." I said, indignantly, lifting my head to yell at someone regarding privacy. But I saw, just in time, that it was Thomas.

"Oh," I said. "What do _you _want? Wait just a minute!" I cried, remembering the rules. "How did you get in here? And what if someone sees you?"

"They're all away," he said, taking a seat on the chair next to the bed. "And I picked the lock."

"Well, I would think you wouldn't risk sneaking into the maids' quarters after—"

"Aren't you coming to the fair?" Thomas interrupted.

"I've been banned, remember?" I said cynically.

"So?"

"What are you implying?" I asked, sitting up to face Thomas properly. "That I ignore Mrs Hughes and sneak out?"

"That is _exactly_ what I am implying," was Thomas's answer. "I thought you knew me well enough to know that I wouldn't sit around and obey Mrs Hughes if there was an alternative."

"Yes," I said. "But I am _not_ you. And," I added, "There _is_ no alternative."

"Of course there is. Sneak out with me."

"Preposterous."

"No, it isn't. Look, it will be really easy."

"Never," I said, though I was standing up now.

Thomas looked annoyingly triumphant. "Come on," he said. "There's no point arguing anymore. You know I'm right."

Spluttering futile protests, I allowed Thomas to take my hand and lead me from my room.

"Shh," he said when we were out in the corridor. "Or you'll get us both caught."

I reluctantly obeyed his orders. I knew that what I was doing was wrong. Heavens! I did not even _want_ to go to the fair that much. And yet, there was something about the whole affair, something about sneaking past Mr Carson, and darting behind the door when Mrs Hughes walked past and eventually breaking out into the cold air outside, that was inexhaustibly exciting and thrilling. And I could not help but think that it might be the presence of a certain footman that made it this way.

"God, that was close," huffed Thomas in the courtyard, as we both stood gasping for breath after a narrow escape from Mrs Hughes in the kitchen. "I thought we'd had it."

I nodded. "Me too. You were very quick to think of going behind the door."

"I'm a man of many hidden talents."

I didn't really know what to say to this statement, and so said nothing at all.

"Come on," said Thomas, when it became apparent that I was not going to say anything. "We'd better get going. The fair will have already started by now."

Thomas was right. When we arrived in the village, the fair was already in full swing, all ablaze with brightly coloured lights and noise. The village was literally packed with people and stalls, and everyone seemed to be in a state of merriment. I looked at Thomas, whose face looked suspiciously happy at the sight.

"I thought," I said slyly, "that you did not like the fair."

He hastily rearranged his features. "I—of course I don't," he said. "Do I look like a country bumpkin?"

"Like you said," I said. "You are a man of many hidden talents. Perhaps you're a secret juggler? Or a fire breather?"

We walked along with the general throng of people, being over taken by small children occasionally. There seemed to be a numerable amount of stalls and attractions at the fair, and Thomas wasted no time in telling me which ones were good, and which were good for nothing. For somebody who claimed to hate the fair, he seemed to know an awful lot about it. For once in his life, it seemed like he was free from all the bitterness he seemed to carry around at Downton. Even his uniform had been abandoned, and he was practically unrecognisable consequently. It was so pleasant and nice that I completely forgot my woes of Mrs Hughes and my life in general. Until—

"Nellie?" said voice that I instantly recognised. A sinking feeling seemed to lodge in the pit of my stomach. It was William, alone, clutching a bag of salted peanuts and looking incredulously at me and Thomas.

"Evening, William," said Thomas smugly. "Out alone tonight?"

But William ignored him. "You—you told me that you—you weren't allowed to come out tonight!" he said, with accusation that caused my stomach to churn further. "Is this the real reason? You wanted to come with...with _him_?"

"No!" I said hurriedly. "No, William. Look, I..."

I turned to Thomas desperately, wanting something to come to mind to say. Thomas, being unhelpful as usual, denied nothing.

"So what if she did?" he said, stepping towards William, who dropped his bag of peanuts. "There's no problem in that, is there?"

"Oh, stop, please!" I cried, frantically. But I was ignored.

"I don't know what you're playing at!" cried William, bizarrely drawing some confidence from the situation. "I've...I've seen you! I know what you get up to!"

Thomas's eyes flashed and his fists clenched.

"Oh, yes!" continued William, obviously not seeing these warning signs. "You may have Miss O'Brien wrapped around your little finger, but I won't let you get to Nellie too! She deserves better!"

I was literally flapping my hands about in desperation but nobody seemed to be taking any notice. Thomas was taking another step towards a slowly diminishing William.

"And I expect you think you, a pathetic excuse for a footman, can be that 'better' that she deserves?"

"Rather me," said William, "than some slimy git who spends his time messing around with—

But William never got to finish his sentence, for Thomas's fist collided with the side of his face before he could get to it. I clasped my hand to my open mouth in a completely comical image of shock. But there was absolutely nothing funny about the situation.

"For goodness' sake!" I cried. But William was clambering up now, sporting a bruised forehead. But before he had a chance to attempt revenge, which I knew would almost inevitably end in disaster for him, I put my foot down. "Let's all just go back," I said slowly, and in a voice I hoped was calm and collected.

Extremely reluctantly, both Thomas and William silently consented to walk back together, giving each other death stares while I attempted to make peace by walking in the middle. Nothing was said, and the silence was horrible, as it just allowed me to keep turning events over and over in my head. This was my fault entirely. Why had I ever come back to Downton Abbey? I had upset everything and ruined the respectability of the house. I hadn't been a good maid, I had let down Lord and Lady Grantham and I hadn't managed to integrate myself with the other servants at all. Aunt Eglantine would have been ashamed of me. Thinking of her, I instinctively reached for the locket around my neck, but it gave no comfort.

We reached the servants' entrance to Downton Abbey, whereupon we were immediately pounced upon by Mrs Hughes, who ranted about rules and regulations and disgrace and punishments for a good fifteen minutes. It was only after this time that she realised that Thomas and William had, in fact, done nothing wrong, and allowed them to leave, with careful ignorance of William's bruised head. I supposed she did not care for asking too many questions.

"As for you," she said, turning back to me, "I think that you have had enough warnings. More so, I believe, than all of the other maids put together. It is with regret, therefore, that I will speak to his Lordship tomorrow. He will decide what is to be done, I'm afraid."

I expected nothing less, and was surprised that she did not dismiss me on the spot. When she thankfully left, I did not proceed further into the house to go upstairs to my room. Instead, I did an about turn and went back outside into the courtyard, breathing in great gulps of cold, October air.

It surprisingly silent outside. An environment that would normally make me feel peaceful or relaxed now just made me feel melancholy. I just felt like such a failure, I thought, as I stared up at the moon, which shone down brightly. I heard the door behind me click, and turned to see Thomas coming outside, lighter in hand. I was amazed that I did not feel some form of anger when I saw him. After all, he was partly to blame for my sorrow, though I, of course, was the main cause.

"What have you got to look so miserable about?" asked Thomas, lighting up a cigarette. "Apart from the fact that just about everyone seems to hate you right now."

"I always..." I began, staring up at the sky and wondering how to phrase my answer. "I always thought that I'd make something of my life, you know? Make it big as someone important. And now," I added bitterly, "it seems I cannot even make it as a maid."

Thomas didn't say anything for a moment, puffing smoke into grey clouds that floated up and away into the velvet sky.

"I wouldn't say that," he said, eventually.

"I would," I said darkly. "I'll never get anywhere in life."

"Doesn't hurt to dream, though."

I sighed. "Times are hard for dreamers."

"Tell me about it," said Thomas. I looked at him in mild surprise. I had always imagined Thomas to be, perhaps not content with his position in Downton, but happy enough to scheme his way through the ranks. But this expression and his face told me differently.

"You mean..."

"I don't want to be stuck here working as a footman for the rest of my life."

"Oh," I said. "Yes, I suppose you wish to 'climb the ranks', as they say? Valet? Butler?"

Thomas drew on his cigarette again. "Perhaps," he said. "But there's more to life than serving in a house."

"You mean to tell me that you, of all people, have a dream?"

"Of course," said Thomas in mock offence. "I'd like to own a bookshop. I love to read."

I stared, open mouthed, at the footman. He chuckled slightly at my expression of complete and utter disbelief. Eventually, I regained composure.

"I...I didn't realise we had so much in common," I said quietly, still frowning, puzzled, at the ground.

"On the contrary," said Thomas, "_I_ think we're quite similar."

"Oh, do you?" I said, raising an eyebrow to him and leaning back against the wall.

"Definitely," said Thomas, confidently. "We're both alone, we're both hated by everybody else here—"

"Oh, alright!" I said, annoyed.

"No," said Thomas, grinning. "Seriously though. We both dream of bigger things, don't we? Neither of us want to be stuck here forever. We're both young and ambitious...And we both eavesdrop quite a bit, don't we?"

I tried to ignore this comment completely, and consequently remembered something quite odd.

"What was William talking about?" I asked. "Before—well, before you acted utterly unreasonably."

"Oh," said Thomas, freezing up at once. "Nothing."

"Well, it must have been _something_," I persisted.

"Nothing that concerns _you_," said Thomas, and I was surprised by his change in tone and demeanour.

Already thoroughly exhausted and irritated and generally depressed by the day, I stood up.

"Fine," I said, shortly. "Well, then. Good night."

And with that, I stalked off, leaving Thomas alone with his cigarette, his dreams of owning a bookshop, and his mysteries that did not concern people like me.


	15. Chapter 15

I have been pretty miserable at many times throughout my life, but those next few days were perhaps some of the most miserable I had ever felt. Nobody spoke to me, all believing me to be conniving, horrible, and allied with the likes of Thomas and O'Brien. Everyone was under the illusion that I had abandoned plans to go to the fair with William in favour of hurting his feelings by going with Thomas. It was petty, I knew, but the loss of everybody's friendship hurt me nonetheless. Even Anna was unusually cold and distant with me, and Mrs Hughes gave me an even harder time than before when it came to chores and standards. Surprisingly, however, she took enough pity on me _not _to talk to Lord Grantham. Even Thomas, whom I thought I could rely upon for some solitary company, seemed disinclined to talk to me often. No one was prepared to listen to me, and I was very lonely indeed.

I began to take bizarre comfort even from O'Brien's taunts, for they at least reminded that I still existed. She was the only one who even acknowledged that I was there at all, even if it was only to drawl snide comments as we passed in the corridor. I happened to walk in on both of them, Thomas and O'Brien, in a side room as I was looking for some fresh napkins. I was not surprised to see the two figures huddled very closely, speaking in hushed voices. Not hushed enough, however, that I did not catch the last part of what they were saying,

"Sneak it in next week," said O'Brien, "When it's his time off."

And then they saw me, and the conversation came to an abrupt end.

"What are _you_ doing here?" asked O'Brien rudely.

"Come on, O'Brien," said Thomas quietly. "We were just leaving."

"Oh, no," I said huffily, thoroughly annoyed by just about everything at present. "I'll go. And leave the three of you here. Plotting."

I wasn't sure what had made me use the word 'plotting' but it slipped into my mind suddenly as the perfect word to use to describe their behaviour. The quick flash of unease in Thomas's eyes was enough to tell me that I had been correct.

"Don't worry," I said. "I do not wish to be part of it, but I wish you every bit of luck in ruining somebody else's life."

And with that, I turned and stalked out of the room, forgetting anything to do with clean napkins.

Back in the Servants' Hall, I found Mr Bates, who was sitting at the table. I wasn't sure whether to stay or not, as it wasn't likely that anyone would strike a conversation with me at this stage, but then I remembered Thomas's plan to pin a theft on Mr Bates, and decided to do something I should have done long ago. It was true that I didn't want Thomas to get in trouble—that was what had held me back before—but the support of a friend had certain limits, and getting innocent men sacked was one of them. I suppose, if I really thought about it, I had had enough of playing nice. What was the point of keeping quiet and meek if everyone slighted you anyway? I might as well do the right thing, and damn the consequences.

"Mr Bates, I have something to tell you, something rather disagreeable. Do you mind if I sit?"

"Of course not," he said quietly. "I don't own the table."

"Oh," I said, feeling rather foolish. "Well—you see, no one's wanted to talk to me lately. They seem to think I abandoned William for Thomas, and everyone is dreadfully fond of William, so…" I trailed off, staring at a particularly fascinating crumb.

"What were you going to tell me?"

"Only that—only that Thomas and O'Brien have an utterly ridiculous to sneak wine into your quarters next week on your holiday, when you're gone. They're hoping that everyone will think you stole it, apparently."

Glancing up at him, I perceived that his face had stilled.

"On my holiday? I was going to go on a walk with Anna on that day."

"Ah," I mumbled. "I'm very sorry. I suppose you might read in your room to keep guard, so they won't…anyway. But Mr Bates? Could you please not mention this to anyone else? Their scheme is all hearsay at this point, and I doubt anyone would believe it if you told everyone about it at this stage. Besides, O'Brien will just lie and say we made everything up. No one trusts me either."

"O'Brien? I thought Thomas was in on it too."

"Yes. Him too. Well, I have to go, I suppose. Napkins…" And with this rather vague remark, I rose from the bench and made for the door, heartily glad the interview was over.

"Nellie?"

I turned. "Yes?"

"Thank you. It must have been a sacrifice."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I returned, and tried to exit, but Mrs Hughes appeared, followed by an extremely flustered Carson.

"Ah, good," puffed Carson. "We have just been informed that the Duke of Crowborough is coming to stay. It's all hands on deck; we cannot let standards drop at all and everybody must be on their best form!"

It was a favourite pastime of Mr Carson's to lecture on 'dropping standards' and the importance of keeping up appearances.

However, I overheard him whisper quietly to Mrs Hughes that he couldn't think what Crowborough meant by it, and that it was a great inconvenience. Puzzling over this, I made sure to listen to the chatter buzzing in the kitchen.

The Duke of Crowborough, I found, was a very rich young man who was coming to stay at Downton for an indeterminate time. I overheard—of course nobody told me directly—that he was recently married and very attractive and was traveling through Yorkshire for his honeymoon. The wife, they said, was a mystery—we only knew that she was an American heiress. The way the young maids were talking about him! You'd have thought they had never seen a male before. Nevertheless, I could not help but look forward to the Duke's arrival that evening. Mr Carson gathered all the staff in the kitchen during the afternoon.

"We will head out to greet the Duke at his arrival," he said importantly. I wondered, wildly, whether that would include me. I voiced my concerns aloud, trying not to be perturbed when everybody turned to look at me.

After an infinitesimal moment, and a glance at Mrs Hughes, Carson nodded.

Afterwards, when the crowd of staff had dispersed to continue with their frantic work, I met William in the corridor. I had not spoken to him at all since the night of the fair, and rather thought that he hated me as much as everybody else seemed to. So I was surprised indeed when he stopped to talk to me, with the resolute yet uneasy look of someone who has something of unpleasant importance to say.

"Nellie," he said, "I'm so sorry about all this."

I was not stupid enough to ask 'all what?' but did voice my puzzlement at his apology. "It is hardly _your_ fault," I said.

"Well," he said, awkwardly, "you see, the thing is—well, I rather think that other people think you've upset me. But," he added, "I don't think that I've exactly helped them think otherwise."

"Oh," I said awkwardly. "William, I—"

"But look, I seriously don't mind if you want to go to places with Thomas. Just because he's not my cup of tea, doesn't mean that—"

"No!" I cut across him quickly, my voice absurdly shrill. "No, it's not that at all. I'm not interested in any way...Look, there was just a slight mix up, that's all."

I explained briefly, _very_ briefly, about being banned, and then convinced to sneak out, etc.

"I would never lie to you, William," I said.

William, upon these words, became slightly flustered and pink about the ears. "No, right," he said awkwardly. I was reminded suddenly of something.

"Oh, William?" I said. He looked up. "Do you remember when...well, when you and Thomas were, um, arguing, as it were—" he nodded—"well, you mentioned Thomas messing around? I was just wondering what you meant by that?"

William blinked at me. There was a pause, and then he seemed to trigger that it was his turn to say something. "Oh, nothing," he said shortly.

"Well, you obviously meant _something_," I persisted, thinking I would probably have more luck with William than with Thomas. "You can't have meant nothing."

"Well," said William slowly, and I could tell that he was toying with an idea. "I didn't mean anything that you should worry about," he said, beaming with obvious pleasure that he had come up with an answer.

I, however, was not convinced. "Fine," I said. "If you're not going to tell me, and Thomas is keeping quiet too, than I shall simply have to find out for myself."

x-X-x

Later that afternoon, an extremely stressed Carson informed us that we were to go upstairs and outside _immediately_, for the Duke of Crowborough was due to arrive at any moment. Hastily smoothing down my skirt under the watchful eye of Mrs Hughes, I followed the others up. Thomas, I noted, was looking particularly sombre. Or perhaps it was seriousness at the situation. Either way, I found it difficult not to look at him. Or at least, it was difficult until I caught O'Brien looking at me, and then it was very easy to look away and become suddenly interested in the gravel path.

After about five minutes, a car drew up outside the magnificent building, taking up the drive not unlike myself and Aunt Eglantine had done so many months ago. It was funny, I thought to myself, that my life _then_ already seemed to belong to a different person_. _It was strange, also, to think of Aunt Eglantine after all this time, and at that particular moment as well. I placed a hand to my neck, but my locket felt like a mere trinket, nothing more. I felt truly disconnected.

The car was being unloaded by William, who struggled slightly under the weight of a great many cases. And then, out of the car stepped the Duke of Crowborough and his wife. I felt the young maid next to me quiver in excitement, and I confirmed that their gossip had been correct. The Duke _was_, indeed, very good looking. He strode up to Lord and Lady Grantham with an air of complete confidence and, in a very charming manner, informed them that he was delighted to be there.

The Crawley sisters, as I could still not help calling them in my head (though of course they were now Lady this and Lady that), were introduced, and each one I gave a good deal of attention. It was odd that I had ever considered any of them as friends, strange now that I was their maid and given absolutely no heed. Perhaps it had been my naivety, but I had been expecting to return to Downton in a similar state to having left it—esteemed by the Crawleys and taken care of. My nostalgic thoughts continued as I remembered the previous year, and was only brought back to the present when I realised the Duke of Crowborough and Lord Grantham were discussing us, the staff.

"You forgot to bring a valet?" Lord Grantham was saying, with a slight edge to his voice.

"I know!" said Crowborough, giving a self-deprecating laugh. "I forgot _again_. I really hope it is not too much inconvenience?"

For such a small issue, Lord Grantham looked strangely put out. "I suppose you'll have Thomas again?"

"Thomas?"

"Our first footman," Lord Grantham ground out.

"You have such a bad memory, darling," his wife teased, patting him on the shoulder.

"I know. I'm quite hopeless, aren't I?" Pecking her on the cheek, he turned to the first footman, whom I was observing closely out of the corner of my eye.

"I'm so sorry I forgot you," said Crowborough, which struck me as a bit odd. Even odder was Thomas's expression. Even at the best of times, Thomas was extremely hard to read, but I had _some_ inkling of his moods (or so I hoped), and I had often noticed that he was usually blank when in the presence of superiors—blank and bored, nearly placid. Right now, however, something indefinable in the way he carried himself, in his eyes, proclaimed that he was fully alert. Now, what was so special about Crowborough that was making Thomas pay complete attention to a rich toff?

"I did, sir," said Thomas, stiffly and professionally.

"Well, then!" said the Duke. "That's settled." He sent another expectant look to Thomas, who nodded simply.

x-X-x

Dinner downstairs was a noisy affair that night. It was late, and it seemed that everybody felt like a celebration ought to take place, after the stress of the day's preparation. Half-heartedly agreeing, for I felt like there was little to celebrate, I found myself sipping a glass of beer (nasty stuff; I much preferred wine) in the crowded Servants' Hall, glad, for the most part, that it was so crowded as it was less apparent that I was, in fact, alone.

William was playing the piano, and a few of the younger maids were crowded around him, requesting their favourites. O'Brien was clutching her wine glass, deep in what looked like a heated conversation with Mr Carson. Everyone else was discussing Lady Crowborough and how _American_ she was (being sure to exclude Lady Grantham from their criticisms). There was just one man there who did _not_ seem to be enjoying himself.

Thomas, after settling the duke in and serving dinner to an impeccable standard, as I heard, was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room by the fire, staring at nothing in particular. I was compelled, at that moment, to go over to him. I wasn't sure exactly why; it was not as though I particularly wanted to make conversation with him. Perhaps it was the beer and general feel of good cheer in the room, but over towards the fire I went.

"Hello," I said when I reached him. I was completely ignored.

"Hello!" I said a little louder, thinking that maybe Thomas hadn't heard me, which was completely absurd, but still. It didn't make any difference anyway, as Thomas didn't reply to this either. His eyes _did_ flicker to mine, though, but then back again at nothing.

I took this as an indication that he had acknowledged my presence, and pulled up a wooden-backed chair to sit near him.

"So," I said, in the awkward silence. "How are you?"

Still nothing. Thomas frowned as though I were something annoying that would not go away. Which, I thought afterwards, I suppose I was.

"Look," I said exasperatedly. "What _have_ I done?"

I finally got a response; Thomas jerked his head towards mine and muttered, "Nothing," bitterly.

"Oh, come on," I said. "There must be _something_—"

"It's not always about you, you know," cut in Thomas sharply. But he did not get up and leave.

"How is the Duke?" I asked, collecting every ounce of patience I had to get a conversation flowing.

"Fine," he said darkly.

"You know, you never mentioned that you had met the Duke before..."

"I hadn't 'met' him. I'd seen him."

"Fine," I said. "_Seen_ him, then. Same thing anyway."

"Mmm," said Thomas non-committedly.

"Are you going to talk to me properly at all this evening?"

Thomas looked briefly surprised before he smirked. "It's unlikely."

"You're infuriating, you know," I said.

"Yeah?" said Thomas grumpily. "Well, I'm not the only one."

"Look," I said, huffing in increasing exasperation. "What _is_ the matter? You've been acting very...odd."

Thomas stood up at this point. "It's none of your business," he said, shortly. And, with that, he strode away out of the kitchen and out of sight, unnoticed by everybody.

Well, the problem was that when somebody tells me that something is none of my business, I usually adopt the mantra that it _is_ my business; they're just not going to be the ones to tell me.

Following Thomas's example, I departed the scene, only vaguely aware of Mrs Patmore's beady stare.

x-x-x

Well, I carried out my plan. I looked everywhere for Thomas; the courtyard, the kitchen, even the cellar. It occurred to me then, that he must be in his room, somewhere I could clearly not go, and somewhere that was not really appropriate for eavesdropping anyway. It was this idea that Thomas had decided to seek solitude and privacy in his room, that made me feel guilty. _I_ wouldn't like it if Thomas eavesdropped on me, would I? We may do it to other people, but I felt like spying on Thomas would be breaking some sort of unspoken code; a breach of trust. No, I decided, I would not spy on Thomas.

I began my walk downstairs, hoping to find some sort of distraction in the Servants' Hall, but to no avail. Everything was too loud, too merry, and I simply couldn't muster any desire to mingle. Thinking work might take my mind off things, I offered to help Mrs Patmore clear the kitchen. She accepted with a 'hmph.'

"I don't know what you see in that man," she said, watching me clear dishes away.

"What man?" I said, sharply. As far as I was aware, I didn't see anything in any man. Unless Mrs Patmore was talking about all the hoo-ha about abandoning poor William for Thomas. At her next words, it was revealed that this was exactly what she was talking about.

"Don't you put one over me, girl! Thomas, that's who!"

"I'm not in love with Thomas," I insisted.

Mrs Patmore snorted. "'Course not; I'm sure hidin' in corners and sneakin' to fairs is a perfectly friendly way to go about things."

"Since when do I hide in corners?" I gasped.

"Don't you?" She raised her eyebrows at me, and I was forced to concede that, perhaps, she might be right. Just a little. "Girls these days!" she continued. "So, you have a nice, good lad like William, what'll treat you right, but NO, you go and run off with Thomas of all people! Let me tell you, that boy is in love with you, Nellie, even if he don't show it, and the way you've treated him is eatin' him up alive!"

"That's completely wrong," I exclaimed, really rather stung. "First, William is _not_ in love with me. Second, I explained to him that there had just been a misunderstanding, and third, who I fall in love with is none of your business. Not," I added quickly. "That I have fallen in love with anyone."

"None of my business, is it?" Mrs Patmore cried, not seeming to hear my insistence that I was not in love with anyone. "None of my business when you're leadin' on the poorest, sweetest lad in the world? And leaving him for _such_ a man? Let me tell you, Nellie," she said, waving a ladle at me, "I could tell you things about Thomas that would curl your hair."

Lifting an eyebrow, I deposited some crockery in the sink, deciding not to point out that my hair was, in fact, already curled. "Try me," I said. After all, I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little interested. Everyone did seem to know something about Thomas that I didn't, and this was perhaps a way I could find out without actually spying on him. Though I doubted anything Mrs Patmore told me would shock me greatly.

"Well. First of all, all the footmen above Thomas left in disgrace. One was caught stealing, another talked ill of his lordship, and another always seemed to break the china when Thomas was around."

"I can't say I'm surprised," I muttered.

"But that's all hearsay," she went on, watching me closely. "Once, William caught him in…well—I don't like to speak of it, and I don't go around blathering it all to anyone, but since I can't bear to see that boy's heart broken, I suppose I'll have to tell you. William caught Thomas…doin' something he shouldn't have."

_Well, that's informative_, I thought. Thomas did lots of things he shouldn't; how was I supposed to narrow it down?

"With the Duke of Crowborough," she whispered.

Oh. "That doesn't seem so bad," I told her. "What was he doing, playing poker? Fraternizing with the upper class?"

"He was…he was…" Her voice going even lower, she leaned forward urgently. "In the shrubbery."

"Wh—what? Was he uprooting bushes and cackling about it?"

"His Lordship sent William to inquire if Crowborough was goin' to the opera with him, and what did he find? _He and Thomas in_ _passionate embrace_!"

I very nearly dropped the soup pot I was holding. Whatever it was I had been expecting, it hadn't been _that_ and I was, thought I tried extremely hard not to show it, really rather shocked.

"You mean—you mean—Thomas was _in love_ with Crowborough?" I stammered.

"Aye, or selling himself."

"Se—_selling himself_?"

I could feel my breath rapidly growing short. The room was getting hotter and stuffier. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe.

Mrs Patmore crossed her arms, obviously quite satisfied with her handiwork. "Oh, it happens all the time, girl. In every house, there's always a servant willin' to give away their favours for a pat on the head." She gave a sharp nod. "So you see why it's no good chasin' after a fellow like Thomas."

Her words seem to bring me back to my senses. "I am _not_," I said. "Chasing after anybody! And I don't see how this...this _enlightenment_ signifies anything. What Thomas chooses to do with himself is his own business and nobody elses. If you think this information is supposed to make me change my feelings about him, then you're wrong. _Not_, of course," I hastily added, under the fierce glare of Mrs Patmore. "That I actually _have_ any feelings about him!"

With that, I turned on my heel and departed, her glaring face etched in memory. Busily processing all this, I strode to my room, not even sparing O'Brien, who was sneaking around in the hallway, a second glance.

Surely...there must be some kind of mistake! Mrs Patmore must have got it wrong. Thomas couldn't be...couldn't be...like _that._ And yet, it all made sense. Everything was fitting together in my mind like a jigsaw. But the pieces of the jigsaw didn't seem to want to fit together; I kept remembering other things. Like the way he smiled at me, the way he spoke to me sometimes, the way I had begun to feel about him... But I realised now that other things, fitted perfectly, such as the fact that he was completely opposed to talking about what William had said, his unusual standoffish behaviour.

Well, none of that mattered, did it? Like I had said to Mrs Patmore, it was his business whether he carried on shocking love affairs, and yet… For some reason, I couldn't help feeling disappointed, no matter what I told myself. _Selling himself_… To Crowborough. But for what? For advancement? For a promotion or two? Or for affection…

But Thomas didn't need affection, did he? _He certainly doesn't need yours_, floated unbidden through my head, but I quickly squashed it as totally irrelevant.

Though it was really none of my business, I just couldn't _like_ the idea of Thomas 'giving away his favours,' as Mrs Patmore had put it, to some rich nobleman who probably didn't care two straws about him. Crowborough's eyes hadn't shown any sort of affection in his looks towards Thomas. I was quite sure now that they had been hard, and cold.

I decided then, that I didn't want to go up and sit in my room; mulling things over by myself. I needed to clear my head; I needed some air. I turned around and headed for the courtyard. If a certain footman happened to be there, all the better. Then I could get the full story once and for all.

Just as I had hoped, Thomas was smoking the courtyard, blissfully unaware as to what I had just encountered. Except now I was here, I didn't want to see him anymore because I had no idea what to say. He looked up when I clattered out.

"And where the hell have you been? You look as white as a sheet." he said, giving my frame a look up and down.

"I," I started, in a slightly strangled voice. "I've been talking to Mrs Patmore."

"And what did she say? Give you a tongue-lashin', did she?" he said, returning to his cigarette without much appearance of interest.

I took a deep breath. "Actually, she told me something about…about...you."

Thomas's eyes flashed. "What about me?" he said, harshly.

"About you and...you and..." I lowered my voice. "You and the Duke of Crowborough."

Thomas looked at me, sharply. "What about it?"

I swallowed. Thomas wasn't making this easy.

"That you and he were lovers." My voice was barely above a whisper.

Thomas didn't say anything for a moment. He wasn't looking at me now, just twisting his cigarette between his fingers.

"And what're you gonna do about it?" he said, eventually.

"So, it's true, then?" I said, willing him to deny everything.

"Yeah, it's true! Now what the hell are you gonna do?" Thomas's voice was harsh.

"Nothing." I looked at him, surprised. "I told Mrs Patmore that it was none of my business what you did with yourself. You see, she was angry that I didn't want to ride off into the sunset with William, so she thought that if she gossiped about you, I'd—" I stopped suddenly, horrified at the implications I had inadvertently let slip. _How_ could I be so stupid? I sent an agonized glance at him, hoping he hadn't made any inferences, but all hope was in vain. Thomas was far too quick.

"So Mrs Patmore thinks you're in love with me, does she?" He gave a tight, humourless smile.

"I suppose she does, yes," I muttered, cursing my own big mouth.

"An' you're absolutely positive you won't spread the bleedin' word?"

"For the last time, yes!" I cried. "I'm not the sort of person to spread other people's private affairs around, and I'm hurt that you think I would. Besides," I continued. "What good would it do me to have you sacked? I'd have no one to complain to, as frankly, Anna is such a martyr you can't moan about your lot without her setting her doe eyes on you, and I just know she's virtuously condemning me—"

"Nellie?" said Thomas.

"What?" I asked, cut short in my rant.

"Thank you."


	16. Chapter 16

I slept very badly that night. In fact, by the time the dressing bell rang at its same ungodly hour the next morning, I hardly felt as if I had slept at all. I had been thinking about Thomas, and why I cared _so_ much that he liked other men, and why I felt quite _so_ hurt by this. What did it even matter to me? I was reasonably open-minded, and, despite having been brought up by my opinionated Aunt Eglantine, I was quite happy to accept just about anything. Indeed, had it been anybody else, I would perhaps have been quite _interested_, in my inquisitive, almost nosy sort of way. But Thomas was different, somehow, and no matter how I tried to frame it, the thought of him kissing Crowborough made me…uneasy. However, I told myself that it was only because I didn't like Crowborough, though I had not had the slightest objection to him before.

But it was none of my business, I repeated to myself all through my morning routine. Thomas could do whatever he liked, and I would remain friends with him. Giving my hair a last minute comb over, I exited my room, prepared to do battle with the world.

By the time I went down to breakfast, I was ready to treat Thomas with complete acceptance and show him that nothing had changed between us.

However, when I arrived in the kitchen, it was quite apparent that Thomas was not there. There was not a glimmer of his smooth hair, nor a whiff of his pressed livery. Yes, Thomas was not in sight. I was not, it seemed, the only one to have noticed this.

"Where's Thomas?" O'Brien asked Carson, as Carson took his seat at the head of the table.

"Thomas..." started Carson, as if wondering how to phrase his response. "...is unwell. And he will not be coming down today. That means, William, that you will have more duties, and everything now falls to you. I hope that you will handle it well."

William looked up, with an expression half way between nervousness and excitement. "Oh, yes, Mr Carson."

"But what's wrong with Thomas?" persisted O'Brien.

"He must be feeling pretty bad," said Anna. "I've never known Thomas to miss a day of work before since he's been here."

"Except when we all had food poisoning," interjected Mrs Hughes. "Remember?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Well, I'll say there's nothing wrong," put in one of the hall boys nastily. "I'll bet he's just fishing for some sympathy."

"Well, he won't find it from me," said Mrs Hughes curtly.

"No," said Carson. "Nor I. Now, come on everybody, it's time!"

There was a scraping of chairs and clattering of crockery as everyone hastened to get to work.

"Nellie," said Mrs Hughes. "Will you just run upstairs and fetch your needle and thread? There are some tablecloths that need embroidering."

"Of course," I said, eager for some sort of distraction.

I disappeared up the stairs, counting each one as I stepped upon it, and hopelessly trying to get Thomas out of my head. Why hadn't he been at breakfast? Was he _really_ ill? Or was he just trying to avoid me? If he was avoiding me, I couldn't see why, since _I_ wasn't going to bring it up again. Was he embarrassed? But why would he be?

Up in the bedroom corridor, I was surprised to hear voices coming from within one of the rooms. The corridor was so echoey and draughty, however, that it was impossible to tell from which room the voices were coming. I was just contemplating conducting a detective style experiment involving listening at keyholes, when a door ahead of me opened, and out stepped—

The Duke of Crowborough.

I was quite sure that the Duke was the last person I would have expected to see. He was evidently as surprised to see me as I him, for we stared at each other for a few moments, before the Duke regained himself and smiled charmingly.

"Hello," he said. "You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?"

There was a sort of unpleasant undertone to his voice, and so I was not fooled at all.

"What are you doing up here?" I demanded.

"A bit bold, aren't you?" he said, not nearly so charming now.

"Nevertheless," I said, faltering slightly. "I'm sure that you do not have permission to be up here."

The Duke looked at me for a moment, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

"Am I very much mistaken," he said, eventually. "Or are you a maid here?"

"That is correct, yes."

"And," the Duke said, "Who am I?"

I blushed slightly and muttered, "The Duke of Crowborough."

"Exactly," he said. "I am a _Duke_. And I am quite sure that that means I have permission to be anywhere I _want_ to be."

It was then that I thought that the Duke was not nearly as good looking up close. Or perhaps it was the rather sour expression on his face that made him look quite so unpleasant at present.

"If you please, Sir," I said, with forced dignity. "I did not mean any disrespect by what I said, I was only—"

"You were only meddling in things that don't concern you, weren't you?" he leaned in closer, surveying me with interest. "I've heard about you. You're that girl who used to be a cousin or a niece or something of the heir to Larkford House. But now they've gone and died and left you to become some sort of stupid, low-down, dogs' body—"

"Hey!" I cried angrily. "Excuse _me_—"

But I never got to finish my sentence, whatever abuse it would have undoubtedly contained, for at that moment, the door beside us opened, and Thomas appeared from behind it. Something twisted in my stomach. Was Thomas conducting a tryst? If he was, how long would their affair last? Surely Crowborough wouldn't…take him away, would he? I mean, Thomas had a right to go wherever he wanted; I just didn't want him to leave Downton for…_that_.

Wordlessly, he raised his eyebrows at the duke, who shot him a glare.

"Bullying maids, Crowborough?"

He was dressed, unusually, in clothes quite unlike the livery he usually donned. His shirt was open at the top, revealing inches of his bare neck, and I was too distracted and shocked by the unexpected sight of him without his livery to say a word.

"She was eavesdropping," said Crowborough, a queer little smile playing on his lips.

"Were you?" said Thomas, looking at me.

"Well…" I began, collecting my thoughts, "I heard voices and was going to, but I wouldn't have planned on it if I had known it was you. And his lordship walked out before I could hear anything."

"Why wouldn't you have eavesdropped on Thomas, if you had known it was him?" said Crowborough.

"Because he's my friend," I said simply.

"Oh, I wouldn't be friends with Thomas if I were you, dear. Slippery fellow, that one."

"I know, and I'm friends with him anyway."

"Would you be, if you knew everything he's done? People are hardly ever completely accepting, unfortunately. Such a pity." With an utterly fake smile, the Duke gave us a mocking bow and strode away. I watched his retreating figure, feverishly wondering what exactly the duke had been doing in a spare bedroom with Thomas and deciding immediately that I didn't want to know.

But Thomas might have something to say, though I highly doubted it, so I remained, looking at him inquiringly. As anticipated, he stared at me with no expression whatsoever.

"Aren't you supposed to be ill?" I ventured. "Or are you simply pretending to get off work? That's what everyone in the servants' hall is saying, but I didn't believe it."

"I'm not pretending," he muttered.

Up close, I noticed, Thomas _did_ look a little ill. He was pale, paler than normal, and is eyes were unusually shaded and rimmed.

"Of course," I said drily. "And everyone who is ill requires a Duke in their bedroom."

"No, not everybody. Just me."

I stared at him a bit more, burning with curiosity. Nobly repressed curiosity. Thomas, however, did not yield, and I sighed, giving up. "Look," I said at last. "That's fine, whatever. I have work to do, so you'll excuse me…" Nodding my head at him, I turned to leave, conscious of his eyes on me all the way down the hall.


	17. Chapter 17

Mrs Hughes having left for a 'short break' in the village, Carson was panicking, as the Dowager Countess was all set to dine this evening and no one knew what to do without Mrs Hughes. As a result, I was sent upstairs for the first time in months, with the task of dusting in Edith's bedroom. Hopefully, no one would see me. Hopefully, no one upstairs knew about my escapade at the fair. Then again, Anna had an unusually close relationship with Sybil and Mary; for all I knew, she might have told them.

Suddenly, I heard someone padding across the hall, and I glanced up, hoping it wasn't one of the Crawleys, or, worse, Crowborough.

My thoughts stopped. It was Thomas.

"What are you doing here?" we both said at near enough the same time.

"I was lost..." I said. "What were _you_ doing?"

"I wasn't doing anything," said Thomas quickly. A bit too quickly.

"You know, Thomas," I said despairingly. "I can always tell when you're lying."

"How?" said Thomas in surprise.

"You open your mouth."

Thomas said nothing to this. He looked _dreadful_. All pale and sweaty. Something about his appearance jogged my memory.

"Have you been seeing the Duke of Crowborough?" I asked, outright.

Thomas shook his head violently.

"So," I said, narrowing my eyes. "What _were_ you doing skulking around the upstairs corridors when you're supposed to be ill?"

"Look," started Thomas. "It really is none of your business what I get up to in my own time. It's a free country, isn't it?"

"Yes," I said, finding the situation and conversation suddenly very familiar. "But even in a free country I don't think it is considered acceptable for a footman to go gallivanting around with a Duke—"

"I was NOT gallivanting!" said Thomas, his voice raising.

But I shushed him quickly. There were footsteps running along the preceding corridor. I had forgotten, momentarily, where we were. There was no time to hide, no time to _move_ even, before the person was upon us. I was very surprised indeed when I saw that it was _O'Brien_ of all people. She stopped dead when she saw us, looking from myself to Thomas with a look of mingled hatred and disgust. Not that dissimilar from her usual expressions, really.

"Well, well, well. This _is_ an unusual place for a rendezvous," she said sourly.

Thomas opened his mouth to say something, but I cut across him, feeling that this was best left to those who have a lot of experience at getting out of sticky situations.

"You see?" I said to Thomas. "Even Miss O'Brien agrees with me."

"You what?" said Thomas, but I silently urged him to go along with it.

"Honestly, I tried to tell him," I told a puzzled looking O'Brien, "tried to tell him that Mr Carson didn't _need_ any help to clear away the plates. And look," I gestured to Thomas's face, "he's clearly _much_ too ill to have considered doing anything of the sort. Poor thing," I added, patting Thomas's arm. "He must be a bit delirious; thought _this_ was the serving hall for goodness sake! I mean, can you believe it? If I hadn't met him here, well, who _knows_ what would have happened. Anyway," I said, taking Thomas by the arm, "_I'd_ better get you back to your room, hadn't I? Good night, Miss O'Brien, I'll leave you to get on with whatever you were doing."

And then, without so much as another glance at her, I steered Thomas away from O'Brien by the arm, and began marching us off in the opposite direction.

"What the hell..." Thomas began, but I stopped him midsentence.

"Just walk."

"But—"

"Just keep walking!" I hissed.

As soon as were out of sight of O'Brien, I dropped Thomas's arm.

"You can thank me later," I said.

Thomas scoffed. "Thank you for _what_ exactly? Making me look like an idiot?"

"No," I said, huffily. "Funnily enough, you were doing a good enough job of that by yourself."

"Oh, you are impossible—"

"_I'm_ impossible? _You're_ the one who's become an entity made up entirely of secrets and lies! I've only ever tried to be nice to you, and yet all the while, all you've done is lie to me. Give just _one_ honest thing you've ever said to me."

"You want honesty?" said Thomas, with a queer little smile playing on his lips.

"Go on," I urged, nevertheless.

"Anything?"

I nodded, bracing myself for all manner of insults.

"All right," said Thomas, straightening up. "All right, how's this then? It's true that I was gallivantin' with Crowborough, and much more than that. Completely and utterly true, and I'll be the first to admit that it's not the first time either. And, until recently, I enjoyed every minute of it."

Whatever it was that I had been expecting, I had certainly not been expecting that. Thomas looked at me, as though waiting for some response, and I didn't blame him. I would expect some sort of reaction from myself as well. But, truth was, I didn't really _know_ how to react to something like that. I mean, what was I _supposed_ to say?

"Right..." I said, slowly, just to break the silence.

"Aren't you going to say anything more?" said Thomas.

"Well, what do you _want_ me to say?" I said, desperately. "I can't condemn you for being what you are! I'm not going to go and kick up a fuss just because you like...well, you know. Why should I care that you like going around and kissing noblemen?! It's got nothing to do with me!"

"Well, you _should_ care!" burst out Thomas suddenly. "Because you're the one who's come in to this place and messed everything up!"

"_I've_ messed everything up?!" I started, but stopped. Someone, or rather, a number of people, were moving around very nearby. I took a look at our surroundings.

"Where are we?" I whispered, cursing my sense of direction.

Thomas, who had taken a large step towards me so that we were both now pressed against the wall (as though _that_ was going to help us, but it felt productive), whispered back, "We're by the smaller library in the West Wing. If we go up that way," he pointed, "then we'll be able to get back to the stairs."

"But that's where the voices are coming from," I said. But it was then that I realised that the voices were moving, getting louder even. They were coming closer.

"Quick!" I hissed. "In here!"

And I pulled myself and Thomas, awkwardly, into a broom cupboard that was conveniently located just next to us. This proved to be a rather stupid idea, as the cupboard, already crammed with buckets and brooms, was barely big enough for one person, let alone two.

"Genius," muttered Thomas.

"Oh shut up," I retorted. "I didn't see _you_ coming up with any ideas. That's twice I've saved you now. And what was that about me _messing_ things up?"

"That's complicated," said Thomas, attempting to adjust his person, but failing.

"Stop moving! You're being too noisy!"

It was very, very dark inside the cupboard. I could barely see anything save the fidgeting outline of Thomas. Distantly, through the wood, I could still hear the murmur of voices, but hoped that the group of people, no doubt Lord Grantham and company, would merely pass by, whereupon we could slip out, unnoticed.

"_Oi_!" Thomas hissed at me, and I was suddenly aware of a tapping on my arm that I think had been present quite a long time. [I just love this.]

"What?" I shot back.

Thomas said nothing, but instead nodded towards the door of the cupboard. He was grinning; I could tell because I suddenly got a glimmer of white among the darkness.

I listened. As the voices were much clearer now, I supposed the congregation were just outside, perhaps about to enter the smaller library Thomas had mentioned.

"You're leaving so soon?" said Lord Grantham.

"Yes, I'm afraid I must. Apparently, I have some business in America, something to do with Betty. Very inconvenient, but so is life. I'm so sorry you didn't get to know Betty better, but…" This was a voice I did not completely recognise, but Thomas mouthed me that it was the Duke of Crowborough, and I could instantly put the voice to his face. I strained my ears to hear more.

"Oh, of course I understand." Lord Grantham sounded strangely cheerful. "Such a pity you must cut your honeymoon short."

"Yes, indeed. It is such a disappointment. Oh, do make my apologies to the lovely Lady Grantham and her daughters. I must leave in the morning."

"I will."

There was the sound of footsteps walking away, the chinking of some glass, some more footsteps and then—silence.

I exhaled a sigh of relief.

"Serves the bastard right," Thomas muttered through the darkness.

"What?" I asked, startled. "I assumed by your earlier confession..."

"It doesn't matter," Thomas said quickly. "All that matters is that we won't be seeing his face again. What are we even doing?"

"I don't know..." I admitted. I had slid down one side of the cupboard, possibly resting on an upturned bucket, and Thomas's left leg was entwined somewhere up near my elbow.

"Well," I said, for I was beginning to get cramped, "if you're not going to tell me anything, shouldn't we—?"

"You said you wanted honesty, didn't you?" he interrupted.

"Yes," I said, in a very small voice.

"Well. You're gonna get more than you bargained for, then." He took a deep breath, preparing. My emotions were divided about his decision. On the one hand, my curiosity wouldn't let me rest until I knew every single detail about Crowborough. On the other hand, I really wished he had chosen a different place to reveal all, as my elbow was starting to hurt. But I knew better than to interrupt.

"You know how everyone says if you really love someone, you won't care whether they're rich or poor, what their position is?" Although he could barely see me, I nodded. "That's all rot."

Before I could protest, he continued, "If love even exists, it ain't all sentiment and roses, you know? There's got to be practicality in everything."

"Of course. You can't simply elope to Gretna Green with a handsome scoundrel. No matter how much you may want to."

"Well, look who's been reading too much Jane Austen."

"Obviously," I said, ignoring that last bit, "one ought to marry for affection and financial stability. Which I…failed to do."

"Aye, marry a rich man you feel slight affection for, but no one said you had to marry an idiot."

My lips quirked up; I couldn't help it.

"But I'll never marry, you see. 'Cause men can't marry men, and even if I was a woman, no one rich and witty enough to my satisfaction would take _me_. So I did the next best thing. I took up with a duke who I _thought_ would give me a better place."

"But he didn't?" I guessed.

"If he did, I wouldn't still be here, would I? No, I wired him sayin' that Lady Mary's fiancé was dead, and would he please come here and take the fortune and me with it? But you see, Grantham wouldn't fight the entail, as Crowborough found out. And he didn't have any use for me _then_. How could he, when a valet was an extra expense, and he was goin' to America to seek his fortune?"

Putting aside for a moment the fact that Crowborough had been planning to have an affair with Thomas while married to Mary, I focused on the fact that Crowborough had abandoned Thomas. "Was he that strapped for money, then?" I asked. "That he left you here to rot?"

"Said he didn't need me. Well, I didn't need him, either."

"How long ago was this?"

"A year, before I ever met you."

A pause succeeded, and I regretfully concluded that the story had come to an end, though I still burned with curiosity about what Crowborough had wanted. "And now he took a wife," I murmured, hoping to restart the conversation.

"Aye, and now he's bored, and looking for amusement. Apparently, a valet ain't such a wasted expense after all."

"You mean he only came to Downton because of you?" I exclaimed, suddenly finding the situation rather funny. "Can you imagine the Crawleys' faces if they knew?"

Thomas grinned briefly, but continued, much to my joy. "So. Crowborough's gettin' tired of her, see, and he remembers me, stuck 'ere just waitin' to be swept away. He gave me an offer, you know. First valet, then butler, good pay, too."

I think my heart may have dropped to my stomach. "And…did you accept?" Good God. What would Downton be like without Thomas? No bitter sarcasm, no sass, no tension at breakfast, no teasing, no…Thomas.

"What's it to you?" he said roughly.

"Nothing," I said at once. "I just want you to be happy."

Another pause. "I knew there was only one reason he'd be here, so I said I was ill," Thomas resumed, as if I had never said anything. "I knew what he wanted; all I had to do was wait. And come he did. I let him have his way a bit, make a few absurd promises, before I told him I didn't need him anymore. Told him I could make my own way without his help, and I didn't fancy bein' a servant for the rest of my life anyway."

"Did he take that very well?" I asked.

A sardonic grin was answer enough.


	18. Chapter 18

Quite simply, the world was a beautiful place. Crowborough departed, taking his pretty yet incredibly annoying wife with him, Thomas was no longer keeping secrets, and my breakfast was particularly delicious.

"Well," said Carson, ponderously. "While I never like to speak ill of my superiors, I am glad to see the last of the Duke. Particularly after the way he treated Lady Mary…!"

"Aye, and he took his _lovely_ wife with him," chimed in Gwen. "She was nearly as bad as that Lady Eglantine."

While it hurt me slightly to have my poor dead aunt spoken of in this way, I could not really blame Gwen for speaking ill of her; Aunt Eglantine had made herself really rather disagreeable to the staff.

"Insultin' your superiors, Gwen?" said Thomas, slicing his bacon in half. "You'll be goin' on strike next."

"And what about what you used to say about her?" Gwen returned. "And about Nellie too!"

Interested, I shot a look at Thomas, who immediately scowled. "Oh really?" I said, raising my eyebrows. "What did you used to say?"

"Never you mind," he said gruffly, and turned to commenting on the current state of affairs.

x-x-x

Christmas was fast approaching which, while this meant greater fuss and more work than usual, I could not help but feel excited about. I'd always loved Christmas, and while this was unlikely to be quite like any Christmas I'd ever experienced before, it was Christmas nonetheless.

"I love Christmas," I said, as I helped Mrs Patmore attach a Christmas wreath to the wall of the servant's hall on Christmas Eve. "Everything just seems so much more pleasant at this time of year."

Thomas, who was stood directing me and Mrs Patmore so that the wreath was hung straight, snorted. "You sound like bloody Bob Cratchit," he said. "And," he gestured to our wreath, "that's off center."

Mrs Patmore threw a tea towel at Thomas. "If you can't be useful, clear off!" she said. "And just because _you're_ such a Mr Scrooge, it doesn't mean the rest of us don't enjoy Christmas."

"Don't you like Christmas, then?" I asked Thomas, as we both left to get out of the way of Mrs Patmore, who we could now hear shouting at the poor kitchen maid about some missing mince pies.

"Not particularly," said Thomas. "It's just another day, isn't it? But with more work to do. Nothing to be thrilled by, really."

"Well, it's nice to know you've got a positive outlook on the situation," I said sarcastically. "Try not to get _too_ excited, though; you'll wear yourself out."

x-x-x

Christmas day dawned bright and cold, and when I looked out of my tiny window, I could see that the ground was completely white, covered entirely in snow. I dressed quickly, wondering whether there would be time to take a walk out in the snow perhaps later that afternoon, maybe after we'd sung some Christmas hymns and eaten a delicious luncheon.

I flew down the stairs in high spirits at the prospect of the day, and found myself amidst a scene of utter chaos. Instead of eating breakfast and exchanging jolly festive wishes to one another, everyone was rushing about in mad panic, looking stressed and far from jolly.

"Ah, Nellie," said Mrs Hughes, pouncing on me the moment I set foot in the servant's hall. "You'll need to light an extra fire this morning in the drawing room. His Lordship will want it nice and warm for after lunch. Quickly, now!"

Rather forcedly, Mrs Hughes shoved the bucket of firewood into my arms and bustled away into the kitchen, where I could hear her making loud enquiries to Mrs Patmore about the servant's Christmas luncheon. Sighing, and deciding that the day was perhaps not going to be quite the festive celebration I'd been expecting, I carried the bucket upstairs, passing Mr Carson on the way, who was red faced and bellowing orders at William.

"Make sure you bring those serving spoons out quickly! Time does not slow down just because it is Christmas Day!"

The rest of the day passed in much the same way; the maids were worked at such a high level that we didn't even have time to _think_ about Christmas carols, let alone sing any, and Mrs Hughes looked so horrified by my suggestion of a walk in the snow that it was as if I'd suggested we riot. Even the servant's Christmas luncheon was cut short by Carson's insistence that we needed to 'get on', and I had barely finished my last mouthful of Christmas pudding, when my bowl was whisked away by Mrs Patmore, who was deeply concerned about cleaning away the servant's luncheon in time for the family's dinner.

By the time that evening rolled round, and the Crawley's had enjoyed a relaxed Christmas dinner and insisted that we servants had done enough and could go to bed, I was wondering why I'd ever been looking forward to Christmas, and could fully understand Thomas's outlook.

"Isn't there _any_thing fun for us servants to do at Christmas?" I asked, as we all sat around the table in the servants' hall.

"It is not in a servant's job description to have fun," said Mr Carson, seriously.

"Aye," said O'Brien. "Welcome to the real world. No expensive presents and parties for you _this _year."

I scowled at her. "I didn't mean _that_ sort of thing," I said. "Just, you know, games or carols or something."

At the mention of 'games', Mr Carson's eyes went wide. Anna quickly put in; "Well, there's the Servants' Ball, isn't there. That's normally good fun."

A Servant's Ball? Nothing like that had ever happened at Larkford House. Though my aunt _did_ always allow our servants to relax on Boxing Day with a day off as their Christmas treat, perhaps at Downton the staff were treated with this. Even so, I wasn't sure I liked the idea of a servant's 'ball'. Growing up with Aunt Eglantine, I'd had enough balls to last me a lifetime. I thought that I would skip this ball, and finally enjoy some time to myself in a night off.

Along the table, conversation had turned to who would dance with who at the ball.

"Nellie, you'll dance with me, won't you?" asked William.

"I'm not going," I said, quickly. "Sorry, William, but I'm…I'm not going."

"Oh yes you are," said Thomas, lighting up a cigarette. "Everyone's got to attend."

"But I thought the one benefit of being a servant was not having to go to balls and all that nonsense."

"Might I remind you," said Carson. "That 'all that nonsense' is your employer's gift to you, and you will attend, whether you want to or not." He stood up, as though this settled the matter, and announced that he was off to bed.

"So you'll dance with me then?" pressed William, when Carson had left.

Seeing no way of getting out of going to the ball, I agreed. "Yes. Yes of course I'll dance with you William."

William beamed. "And maybe I'll dance with Sybil as well," he said.

"Yeah, and get your ear talked off about the Suffrage," Thomas snapped.

"How about Mary?"

Thomas merely gave a grimace of distaste.

"Oh come on, Thomas, Mary has her good points," said Anna.

"When she's not flauntin' her dresses under Edith's nose, she does."

"Wait," I said suddenly, surprised. "You mean we actually dance _with_ the family?"

I had a sudden vision of myself performing a two-step with Lord Grantham.

"Of course," said Anna, smiling. "And you needn't look so horrified. There's plenty of people who would jump at the chance to dance with Mr Matthew."

As if to confirm this, two young maids at the end of the table burst out giggling, and at this point Mrs Hughes sighed and announced and that she, too, was going to bed.

"I still reckon I can get a dance with Sybil," insisted William, the moment Mrs Hughes was out of the room.

"You can't dance," Thomas muttered. "Most likely, you'll step on her toes and blunder into old Lady Grantham. I doubt you'd survive it, really."

"I don't think any of us would survive it," said Anna, kindly. "The Dowager Countess is a fierce one."

"I've never met her," I said.

"You will," said Thomas, squashing his cigarette and examining an invisible speck on his cuff. "Like I said, _every_one's got to attend."

I sighed glumly.

"You really don't like balls then?" asked Thomas.

"No," I said, shortly. "I was always terribly awkward and said the wrong thing."

"Really?" said Thomas, sarcastically. "Can't imagine that."

I gave him a look of deep disgust, but typically, this didn't affect him in the slightest.

x-x-x

I spent the entire day of the Servant's Ball upstairs in the ballroom, cleaning and hanging decorations under the scrutinising eye of Mrs Hughes. Every now and then during the day, various members of the Crawley family would put in an appearance in the ballroom and comment on the decorations, or instruct what must still be done.

As I was balancing precariously on a ladder, stringing up tiny coloured glass balls with Thomas, Sybil and Mary came into the room accompanied by an elderly lady who I didn't know, but could guess at her identity.

"Is that the Dowager?" I asked Thomas in a low voice, as I watched Mrs Hughes show off the poinsettia on the walls to the women.

Thomas nodded. "Yep," he said. "That's old Lady Grantham."

"What's she like?" I asked. "Is she nice?"

Thomas took his time replying, stringing up some more glass balls before saying;

"She's about as nice as your lovely Aunt Eglantine."

I frowned at him. "I see."

"No, seriously," continued Thomas. "The Dowager and your aunt could be sisters, separated at birth or something."

"Imagine that!" I said. "Me and Lord Grantham as cousins!"

"No way," said Thomas, grinning. "I can't imagine you being a Crawley."

"No," I said, sighing. "Perhaps not."

"Thomas!" Mrs Hughes called up suddenly. "Leave Nellie to finished those, we need your help to move these tables!"

x-x-x

I was sweeping the dusty floor in the servants' hall alone, half an hour before the ball was due to begin, wondering where on earth everyone else was, when Anna came into the room, carrying a shawl. I glanced very briefly at her before returning my attention to my broom.

"Where is everyone?" I asked, directly my question largely to the floor.

"Up getting ready, I think," replied Anna. "What are _you_ going to wear tonight?"

I looked down at my dusty apron, and then back at Anna, taking in her appearance properly. She was no longer wearing her maid's uniform, but was dressed instead in a pale blue dress, and the shawls she'd been carrying was now being draped over her shoulders.

"Don't we…don't we just wear our uniforms?" I asked. It hadn't occurred to me that we would be required to _change_ for the ball.

Anna laughed. "Of course not! This is _our_ night. It's a chance to dress up a little bit." She turned to look in the mirror. Fixing her hair which I noticed had been pinned up in a different way to usual. She looked much more elegant than I could have ever imagined her to look. I looked at the clock; there were twenty minutes to go.

I raced up the stairs, nearly knocking down poor Mr Bates, who was no doubt off to pay compliments to Anna in the servants' hall, and burst into my room, already hurriedly peeling off my dirty dress. There was absolutely nothing appropriate to wear. I remembered the hordes of dresses I'd had at Larkford House, and wished I'd been able to keep just one. If I'd thought about it, perhaps I would have saved one; smuggled it away from the creditors, but what use for a fine frock could I have possibly foreseen?

At this rate, I was going to end up at the ball in my underwear, so I made a hasty decision to pull on a navy blue skirt and a cream blouse which I didn't think looked too hideous. In the very bottom of my travelling bag, I discovered a pair of dark blue sparkly earrings, that I vaguely remembered shoving in there in some mad panic before I left. Lucky I had really, as with these earrings in and my hair pinned up and fastened with a jewel slide, I didn't think the result was too bad at all. It wasn't perfect, but at least I wasn't still wearing a grimy apron.

x-x-x

By the time midnight rolled around, I was thoroughly exhausted, but I'd still managed to dance with Mr Crawley (it didn't even occur to me to call him Matthew) and even once with Mr Carson, who took the steps very seriously indeed. When I danced with William, we caused a slight commotion when he blundered into Lady Edith, who'd been sipping a glass of wine at the edge of the floor, though nobody seemed _very_ bothered that Edith's dress now had a large red wine stain down the front. After that, I largely steered William around the floor, keen to put some distance between us and the other dancers. When the dance was over, William asked if I'd like to stay for another, but I insisted that I needed a drink.

As I was drinking some wine with Anna, a voice instantly recognisable whispered in my ear;

"I can't believe they'd let _you_ near the good claret."

I nearly spilled my wine all over myself. "Thomas!" I cried. "Don't _do_ that! You scared me half to death."

Clearly pleased with himself, Thomas straightened up, smirking in my direction. Anna chose this moment to excuse herself quietly and slip discreetly away to where I could clearly see her joining Mr Bates near the door.

"Where d'you get those earrings?" asked Thomas, taking Anna's now vacant seat without invitation.

"Oh! Oh, I found them in my bad. I guess I must have saved them. From the creditors, you know…" I trailed off, feeling strangely nervous for some reason.

Thomas was looking at me with his usual, unreadable expression, but it was such an intense look, that I wondered if I had perhaps committed some sort of social faux pas or something without realising (not unlikely), and was on the point of asking Thomas what he was looking at when he said;

"Save a dance for me?"

It took me a while for these words to register properly in my head, and the loud talking (not to mention the strong wine) meant that I was no sure I'd heard correctly.

"Beg your pardon?"

"I said, did you save a dance for me?"

For the second time that evening, I nearly spilled my wine. So Thomas _had_ just asked me to dance. "You-you mean-?"

"Thought I'd save you from William. Don't want you knocking into poor Edith again."

"Oh right!" I said. "Of course. Yes. You're right; let's dance."

I hastily drank the last of my wine and stood up, promptly stumbling over the hem of my skirt and forcing Thomas to grab my arm and steady me.

"You should really lay off the claret, you know," Thomas muttered, leading me onto the floor. I scowled up at him.

Thomas positioned me by William, who I saw had somehow managed to snag Sybil for a dance. Or had Sybil snagged him? But I didn't have time to contemplate this any further, as Thomas chose that moment to place his hand on my hip, and turned me so all I could look at was his face.

He was a surprisingly good dancer; much better than I was really. He actually seemed to know a great deal more about dances than I did, which puzzled me slightly. Had he perhaps learned something from Crowborough? Or maybe he simply practised in his bedroom when no one was looking. The thought of this made me grin.

"What're you smirkin' at?"

"Nothing."

Thomas steered me with ease around the floor, never stepping on my toes once. At previous balls, with previous dance partners, I had always felt so awkward; my arms and legs would never do what I wanted, and I'd felt tall and gawky compared to my partners. But Thomas, as a footman, was tall too, and as we danced together I felt comfortable and the whole situation felt…right.

But then the music finished, and we broke apart. Thomas had a peculiar expression on his face when the dance was over, and I thought I had perhaps outstayed my welcome in his company, and bid him a hasty goodbye. I made my way outside, and found myself on the very same balcony that had witnessed my proposal from the Duke of Banbridge. How long I stayed there, looking out at the dark, snowy ground, I don't know. But it was long enough for the lights in the ballroom to fade, long enough for Anna and Mr Bates to run outside under my balcony and start kissing madly. I _really_ hadn't needed to see that.

Trying very hard not to listen to Mr Bates explaining why he and Anna could never be together, I stared determinedly up at the sky and, as a result, did not notice Thomas come outside.

"What are you doin' out here?" he asked, lighting a cigarette.

"Err…" It wasn't that I wanted Thomas to go, in fact, I would have quite liked to talk to him, but now wasn't the most convenient time to have him around. If he saw Mr Bates and Anna, we'd never hear the end of it at breakfast.

"I was just, you know…" I substituted an excuse with a wave of my hand, and began edging towards the door, hoping that Thomas would follow. He didn't. Instead, he blew smoke everywhere and move towards the rail, where Anna and Bates were clearly visible. I hastily darted forward in front of him, blocking his way.

"Oh don't-

It was too late. He looked down.

"Oh dear, Mr Bates," he called, smirking, while I made frantic motions to shush him. "Surely we're not fraternisin' with the female staff? I wonder, shouldn't Mr Carson hear about this?"

Mr Bates looked up to the balcony, and glanced between myself and Thomas.

"Aren't you doing exactly the same thing?" he asked, in an almost calm manner.

Thomas took his time replying; tapping his cigarette on the balcony rail and showering Mr Bates with ash. Eventually, he replied that he was merely taking a smoking break. Mr Bates raised his eyebrows and glanced once more between Thomas and myself, but didn't say anything more. He took Anna back inside, being sure to brush the ash off his shoulder.

When they'd disappeared, I rounded on Thomas. "You just had to ruin their moment, didn't you?" I said angrily, glaring at him.

Thomas blew smoke into my face. "If I hadn't, we'd have had to listen to his bloody monologue for hours. How he's far too old and unsuitable, and on and on and on."

"He doesn't really talk like that, you know."

"Doesn't he?"

I thought for a moment. "Ok, well maybe he does a little. But it _is_ true that he was a former drunkard, so he's bound to feel he's a little unsuitable and-

"Hang on. How do _you_ know about _that_?"

I raised my eyebrows at him. "You and Miss O'Brien really shouldn't plot so loudly, you know."

_That_ made him take his cigarette out of his mouth. "Nellie," he said, patiently. "You really are the most infuriating little-

"A rule _I_ always try to follow," I cut in. "Is never to call people names that Mr Carson would scold you for at breakfast. It really keeps the peace, you know?"

"You don't need to call people names," muttered Thomas, darkly. "Not when you're so bloody good at irritatin' the hell out of everyone just by opening your mouth."

"I'm sure there's a compliment in there somewhere," I said. "Anyway, did you enjoy the ball?"

"It was alright I suppose. Quite fun actually. William made a fool of himself, Carson said the world would end if the mistletoe wasn't positioned correctly, Mrs Crawley tried to tell O'Brien smoking' wasn't healthy…"

"I can clearly see that your definition of fun differs from mine," I said, dryly.

"Edith seemed to have fun, too," Thomas continued. "Even if you and William _did_ ruin her dress. I still danced with her. Was the only one, mind, but I'm a better dancer than all the men in the room put together anyway."

"Yes, you're really modest as well," I said, sarcastically. "But that was very chivalrous of you, to dance with Edith."

"Well, someone's got to ruin Mary's Christmas, so why not me?"

"Mary's Christmas was ruined by you not dancing with her?"

"I'm not _that_ vain. No, all it takes to ruin Mary's Christmas is anyone dancing' with her sister."

"Oh come on, surely they're not _that _bad."

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "I've been in this house way longer than you, remember," he said, tossing his cigarette away and lighting another. This action seemed to make him contemplative; staring down at the cigarette, and then at me. "Ever smoked?" he asked.

"No," I said, shortly. "Why, am I missing out on much?"

"It warms you up on a winter's night, that's for certain. Here, try one."

He handed me one, and waited for me to put it in my mouth before lighting it. I inhaled, and immediately a horrible burning sensation ran all down my throat, making it feel tight and constricted. I took the cigarette out of my mouth, spluttering.

"Well, everyone's got to have a first time, I suppose," said Thomas, inhaling on his own cigarette. "You should take it up; it suits you."

"I'm not so sure," I said, looking down at the offending item in my hand. "It's horrible. Why ever did you start?"

Thomas shrugged. "O'Brien gave me my first cigarette when I was eighteen; when I first came here. I didn't hate it, so I carried on. You're lucky really you've got me to guide you instead of her."

"I assure you, I am. Oh, and Thomas, while you're in a truthful mood, what _did_ you say about me and my aunt when we came here before?" This was something that had been playing on my mind since Gwen's comment at breakfast that time.

He took his time answering, taking a slow drag on his cigarette and then exhaling so that smoke momentarily clouded his face. "All the things I said about Lady Eglantine were the things I always say about rich old ladies. As for you-I said you didn't know your place."

As usual, his expression was unreadable.

"You mean I was an upstart?" I said, crossing my arms over my body in an attempt to keep warm. "I think everyone said that, when I wasn't in hearing range."

"Oh I said that too. But it wasn't just that. You were kind to me, you see, and I didn't know why. So I looked down on you for it. Told everyone who'd listen you were so desperate for attention you were botherin' a footman to get it."

I was at a loss for words. "That's-that's-_that's not true!_" I hissed, furiously. "_You_ were the one bothering _me_!"

Thomas looked as though he were trying very hard to contain a grin. Tossing his cigarette away, he leaned on the rail. I continued;

"You were the one who followed me around and wouldn't stop making fun of me, even though it's explicitly stated in the _Duties of the Good Servant_ that the staff are to have absolutely no interaction with their masters or master's guests, and don't tell me you didn't know that because you know those rules like the back of your hand; you just prefer to ignore them. Oh sure, I may have been the first one to talk to you, but did I force you to show up at inconvenient times and mock me? I don't bloody think so!"

Perhaps, if I'd paused for breath, I would have noticed Thomas drawing closer and closer to me, but I didn't.

"And that's not even mentioning all the other things you've done, like your pointless attempts to get Mr Bates fired that always go nowhere, and your constant stupid smirking whenever anything bad happens to me and-

"You're quite extraordinary, you know," Thomas whispered, bringing his icy fingertips to the side of my face.

"What are you…?" I started, trying very hard to focus on his face, but it was blurring, snowflakes were beginning to fall, settling startlingly white against his hair. The feel of his breath on my face was making it very difficult to concentrate. "No, I'm…I'm not…"

I couldn't get my sentence to make sense at all, and Thomas did not seem to be listening anyway. "Mm hm?" he murmured, pressing in close to my face.

"And…you're…" I attempted to continue. But it was impossible For Thomas then chose that moment to press his lips on mine, and I forgot just about everything.


End file.
